


Falling Down

by masamune11



Series: intersecting paths [5]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Cussing, Demons, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Heavy Theory, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was easy to fall down—to let go of his obligations to the world, to abandon the power that will eventually lead him to destruction, to be <i>safe</i> under the protection of others. </p><p>Then Reishi remembered that pair of golden eyes, that cocky smirk, that mixed fragrant of cigars and wine... drawing him back to his only strong resolve: <i>'to save Mikoto'</i>. Suddenly, falling down did not seem as liberating.</p><p>He ended up falling anyway. </p><p>
  <i>[Alternate Universe, officially diverging from the end of Missing Kings but still with close references to Return of Kings. Set after 365 days. Tales told from perspectives of many characters.]</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Der Besuch

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back from the blackhole of doom which is _worklife_. This draft has been sitting for quite a while, and I'm just glad that I finally have the time to polish and plaster this on the site. Can't really promise quick updates nowadays, not when work keeps piling up.
> 
> Although this one is also unbeta'ed, hope you'll enjoy this as well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (—cigar-tasted lips, comfortable warmth, blissful pain, and a height Reishi would never trade over anything; those sensations were like a dream, impossible as they might be given the condition he traded for keeping him _here_ \--not after his encounter with the lady-in-white. He could tell that this person, appearing to him as one Mikoto Suoh, was not an apparition also. He was too solid to be just a mere ghost.)
> 
> —Reishi willed his brain to stop thinking before his cheeks turned flushed.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Der Besuch:** The Visit

Reishi Munakata opened his eyes to the sound of his cellphone beeping annoyingly beside his bed.

His usual reflex was to reach for his phone and turn his forsaken digital alarm off. However the warm presence on his side took his foremost attention, preventing him from doing so. His blurry gaze quickly dashed away from the dark plafond of his flat, his head turning to his left side. He immediately found Mikoto’s surprisingly soft hair tickling his nose, the former Red King's head turned away from Reishi's vision as such that his sleeping face was nowhere visible. The dark-haired man furrowed for a moment, his mind still processing that _this man was supposed to be dead so he should find an evidence or two to prove it._ Reishi quickly relaxed soon after noticing said man’s light snoring (because now he was alive and Reishi acknowledged that the fact mattered so _damn_ much).

His digital alarm kept on ringing; Mikoto remained unmoved as he slept it through. Reishi should have known that nothing short of a crash would make the former Red King budge.

“…some things never change in death, I suppose,” he muttered as his hand lazily reached for his phone and gently tapped at the stop button. For a brief moment, Reishi thought of joining his friend _(enemyrivalvictim)_ to sleep some more, despite the steadily rising sun at the edge of his vision. The warmth that Mikoto emanated was an inviting temptation, given that last night they had—

(—cigar-tasted lips, comfortable warmth, blissful pain, and a height Reishi would never trade over anything; those sensations were like a dream, impossible as they might be given the condition he traded for keeping him _here_ \--not after his encounter with the lady-in-white. He could tell that this person, appearing to him as one Mikoto Suoh, was not an apparition also. He was too solid to be just a mere ghost.)

—Reishi willed his brain to stop thinking before his cheeks flushed even harder.

As if sensing his short distress, the red-haired man stirred despite his prior stillness. Mikoto turned at him, golden eyes lazily glancing directly at him, and Reishi swore that his heart stopped beating, out of surprise. He was caught staring at the red-haired man, after all, and quite expected another bout of teasing remarks. Oh, Reishi had some ideas as well as measures to counter it, where possible. Mikoto did none of what Reishi predicted as he opted to wrap his hand around the Blue King's waist, drawing both of them close. Mikoto's breath tickled his nose, his eyes glinting with mix emotion of annoyance and sleepiness.

(Reishi Munakata was definitely not flustered at their intimate proximity, even when they wore almost nothing to bed. Yes, the head of SCEPTER 4 was. not. _blushing_.)

"Go take a day-off today. That lieutenant of yours surely could handle things for a day or two," he breathed. If Mikoto was trying to hypnotise him in doing his bidding, he certainly was certainly _almost_ successful. Reishi found himself almost agreeing to the idea, if he was not concerned of how late he was into his routine. Dawn was slowly breaking at the edge of his vision, and here he was... still lying on his bed, lazing around with a former King...

"Unfortunately for you, Suoh," Mikoto's family name rolled out more of a habit, his violet eyes sparkling with glee, "I still have other businesses to attend, aside of my work."

That red eyebrow raised in question, “oh, you mean your morning practice at the Dojo?" As if to strengthen his point, his embrace tightened around Reishi's abdomen, making the latter's breathe hitch, "You're late as it is. Might as well skip it.."

Reishi wanted so much to retort at such off-handed reply—such irresponsible and inconsiderate attitude—but those lips were already nuzzling his neck, scrambling whatever coherence he had to counter such off-handed argument. Half of his coherency was slowly pushed away, but Reishi eventually managed to grasp on the idea that he must let everyone know that Mikoto is back; sitting around in his flat while being cared by one Mikoto Suoh, as tempting as it might sound, will not help spread that news. That resolution alone, fortunately, was enough for him to push Mikoto’s frame, earning him an annoyed growl from the latter. Violet seeking gold, Reishi pulled out his most neutral expression, though he half-wondered if his reddened face rendered his effort futile.

“I need to work, Suoh. There are calls that I have to make, and you're in my way.” _I have to contact HOMRA. His followers deserved every right to know._  The head of SCEPTER 4 slowly got out from the comfort of their blankets, Mikoto’s hand surprising slipped out of his waist quite easily, which, admittedly, he had not expected. Reishi expected more impediments—more attempts from the King-turned-clansman to seduce—but Mikoto only let out an annoyed grunt, his frame turning away from Reishi, and said, "suit yourself."

_...Like a giant sulking cat. My god._

“You can come along, if you want,” Reishi off-handedly added to appease the man. There would be no use to bar him from this place despite everything that happened (— _musk, cigar, sweet, spice—_ _brain. stop. thinking_ —), and Reishi was curious enough if HOMRA members would flip and ransack _some place_ when they found out. They will probably call him a trickster, a liar, before tackling the former King and declaring _No Bone, No Blood, No Ash_ like frantic followers they had always been.

His offer was met with a side-glance of amber, unexpectedly filled with melancholy, to Reishi’s surprise. He was tempted to ask back whether there was something wrong with this arrangement, but said man already had his back turned at him again, his characteristic grunt indicating the opposite.

Was he reading into things too much? Reishi fixed his glass in silence, partly waiting if Mikoto really had nothing more to say. Seemingly still under the blanket, Mikoto remained as silent; Reishi eventually gave up waiting altogether and ended the conversation with a sigh, “I’ll take a shower, then."

* * *

Apparently, Mikoto decided not to show up in SCEPTER 4 premise.

When he left his flat in relative silent, Mikoto was still within the confines of his blanket. At first, he thought that the man was giving him the silent treatment for… _abandoning_  him in his second day of return, given how his red hair peeked out from that bundle of flannel with golden eyes shining like a hungry predator. _I’ll get you back for this_ , he seemed to say, and Reishi really expected that the man will do _something_ , to the point of showing up in his vicinity. Now that he didn’t… well, Reishi was not sure how to feel about that.

Also there there was the fact that he had not gotten the chance to speak with either the new Red King or her strategist about Mikoto’s return. He was too drowned by the amount of field reports that had gotten its way to his desk. It was a sign that there had been many happenstances worth his attention—that _many things were going south so quickly that even his lieutenants were not able to keep up_.

There was also the matter of his new puzzle pieces which he could have arranged today _if_ he finished all matters at hand.

...

Knowing well enough that his growing list would never end today, even as the sun was setting, Reishi breathed out a defeated sigh. If he could not cross out everything on his list, then he might as well receive one last reading before wrapping up. His hand tiredly fixed his glass as violet eyes continued screening through another heaps of reports handed by his third-in-command. _Strains losing control. Local inter-gang violence due to power vacuum left by HOMRA._ His brows perked at the second report under the first, yet just before he could read the first word, he heard someone knocking at the door along. Seri’s voice resounded behind that wooden doors as she invited herself in with a dutiful nod.

“Captain, there is someone who wants to meet you,” she started quickly, _too quickly_ for a composed and organised woman like her, as if she wanted this person to get out of her hair and be _Reishi’s problem_. Moreover, the way she shifted uneasily in her place… it piqued his interest as to the person waiting at the front gate was.

Mikoto Suoh’s face quickly flew into his mind, but would that man really appear here, when the day was almost over?

“Ah, who might visit at this late hour?” he rose from his seat and put away his work, earning him a disappointed gaze from his female commander. It was better that way for the moment, he thought; god knows how terrible she was at hiding her discomfort in handling something that was beyond her usual task (even when their work required exceptional skill of adaptability toward environment, a skill that Seri demonstrated  _perfectly_  in almost any kind of situation).

“It’s…” a sigh, stiffened gray eyes finally steeled themselves as the lieutenant of SCEPTER 4 straightened her posture, “Yashiro Isana, the Silver King is at the gate. He requests, as I quote, 'an audience with you'. ...ah, and he also requests to keep his visit quiet."

Reishi couldn't help himself staring at his lieutenant for longer than necessary, his thoughts wandering on whether his coming relate to the slate. He was so lost in thought that he almost failed to sense a shift in the air, right within his reach. The man’s brows furrowed, his face twisting into a frown that startled his own commander. "Thank you for your information, miss Awashima. Could you please open the door and let our guest in?"

Though she gave him a puzzled look beforehand, she quickly did what she was told. when she saw the silver-haired standing on the front door, devoid of his two aides and an apologetic smile, the blond woman only sighed; she should have seen this coming, really, given how Kings tended to go as they wish.

“I shall take my leave then,” she courtly said, earning her a sharp nod; Reishi was too preoccupied with his own mind as it ruffled on possible meanings of this visit, _if any_.

The door eventually closed with a loud creak, the sound only sharpening Reishi’s focus to the other King standing across the room. Shiro’s grey eyes glinted enigmatically as he let himself lean on his red umbrella, “my apologies for dropping by without telling."

“It is fine," Reishi closed his eyes for a brief moment and let his senses be immersed with the other's silver sanctum. His blue aura reacted swiftly to protect him, for this man was a threat despite his ambivalence. The Silver King seemed to notice the change as his lips slowly formed a subtle frown at Reishi’s mild hostility. The Blue King raised his head indignantly at him because, really, Yashiro Isana did nothing to earn his trust.

“So convincing, Munakata-san,” he mused, almost absent-mindedly, “I may not know better, but it is as if you’ve been expecting someone else."

 _That_ earned the First King a cold glare, though he did not seem cowed under that pressure. “Yes, I do,” he curtly replied, those violet eyes still locked themselves on that lean figure; his was too slack for a King with _power_ , and yet Reishi could not help but _stay alert_. “But I fail to understand the relevancy of that to your visit now,” he replied, the edge of his words subtly apparent; Shiro did not seem to catch it though, “given your disappearance during these last few months, I can only wonderwhy the Silver King decides to drop by without bringing his subordinates along, not to mention _requesting us to keep this meeting quiet._ "

The white-haired teen froze in his place and Reishi did not miss the swirling emotion under those grey orbs ( _it felt so familiar and yet he cannot place a finger on it_ ). It took several seconds for him to compose himself, those grey eyes steeling with resolve. Shiro eventually flashed him a resigned smile as he invited himself to the seat across Reishi’s. The Blue King did not bother to heed his terrible manner, not when Shiro’s subtle silver stirred, meshing with his blue. The gesture was not meant to provoke; in fact, Reishi can feel his blue mingling with the teen’s silver in harmony.

In that single moment, he felt _lighter_.

( _But what had made him feel **chained** in the first place?_ )

“I admit that we should not meet… at least not this soon,” Shiro started, “but situation has changed, thus my visit here…"

He did not miss how Shiro’s grip tightened on the handle of his umbrella. The teen was too fidgety, too _regretful_ , and Reishi found himself wary of the words this teen would convey. Yet he gestured the teen to continue, his glance still frigid even in the tension. There was a soft sigh as Shiro finally composed himself, grey eyes showing concern.

“I believe it is time for you to abdicate."


	2. Das Abendessen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where the power to rule other's fates exists, he really should have known that demons and ghosts do too to some degree. To actually see someone bringing one example is something else altogether. Mikoto blinked at her in disbelief, "there are demons...?"
> 
> There was a mysterious smirk plastered on her face, "only when you look at the right place."
> 
> * * *
> 
> In which Claudia has a pet fox spirit, truth being revealed, and Mikoto not reeling over truckloads of information.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Das Abendessen:** The Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm either being productive or unproductive. I'm confused.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Hope you can enjoy.

This was the first thing that registered to his wakeful mind: _distress_.

It was not the same one that forced him to launch at an enemy. He thought that it was more similar to the way Anna's hand intertwining with his own as she sought reassurance—a soft mental nudge that someone of his clan was in need of his presence. So he did what he used to do: he reached out to that presence with his aura.

Frigid blue heeded his call instead of burning red.

In that single moment, the unfamiliarity suddenly kicked him into full awareness that _this was not his power_. His mind whirred quietly, piecing together what had happened before he finally ended up under Reishi's sheet: Claudia's purple primrose, his brief meeting with Reishi, his pledge to make up for him, the night they shared together—

—golden eyes fluttered open, its bearer expecting Reishi to be there. The empty spot next to him indicated otherwise.

Mikoto made another annoyed grunt as he rose from Reishi's bed, all ruffled and _unclean_. Distantly, he remembered Reishi's retreating back as he went out for work, the latter saying that he would most likely return late (though he wondered about Reishi's definition of being late; did it mean that he would not be back until _tomorrow_? He was not sure himself). He remembered deciding to sleep for more as every part of his mind weirdly screamed for a break _._ So he yielded to his worldly need, before waking up to that subtle nudge... and only realising that the sun was already setting.

He had skipped both breakfast and lunch altogether and completely missed morning bath. No wonder he felt like _shit._

(For a fleeting moment, part of him wished that he was dead. At least he would not have to deal with his worldly needs. But then the other part of him—the part that remembered Reishi's stricken during his last moment—quickly chastised it. It was the worst analogy ever and Mikoto vowed to never even think about it again.)

Eventually, he got up from bed and went straight to shower. He was not surprised to see a medium-sized bathtub at the edge of the not-so-small bathroom, which was admittedly in line with his simple but elegant room decor. Reishi had good taste; this he can admit.

Mikoto quickly proceeded to shower, so quickly that he hadn't thought of attire for his change. There was never a discussion that he was there to stay, so the other assumed that Mikoto would not be needing fresh set of clothing. But since the Blue King was _wrong,_ Mikoto childishly greeted Reishi's closet and picked a random set of winter clothes. It did not take him long before Mikoto finally settling with [a gray pullover, a pair of black pants, and a black quilted jacket](http://img01.taobaocdn.com/bao/uploaded/i1/T1I6LwXbdqXXbpwnU9_105004.jpg). He admitted that the combination was rather bland, but between that and other sets with fifty shades of blue, he’ll take bland and boring any day.

When he was happy with his attire, Mikoto proceeded to examine Reishi’s flat attentively. He noticed how there were only basic necessity inside; only a medium-sized bed that could hold up to two person, albeit if they were forced to, a minimalistic bedside table with a family photo, a set of plastic blinds covering the far side of the window, a wooden closet, and some other furnitures. There were no personal belonging that could tell him of Reishi as an individual with bonds save for that picture.

The blue aura hummed quietly at the back of his mind; three hundred days of existing with this power and Mikoto was still unaccustomed with its _obedience_. It was unlike his red aura which always rattled under his rein, its tendrils reaching out his subordinate to seal their bond until their lives end. This power that stayed with him was caring but impersonal; judging but fair; stoic but mindful. It heeded his call without ease, only because _this power treated him like another faceless user_.

Suddenly, Reishi's lack of personal belongings made sense.

"Don't get attached, for justice is impartial, eh?" He muttered to himself, suddenly finding the room too hollow for his liking. The bed was still a mess in the eye of order, and Mikoto was not going to clean it up anytime soon, not when it lessened that impartiality... _that imaginary sense of impersonality_.

"Idiot."

For all his good taste, Reishi should redecorate. But first, he ought to find the man...

* * *

The street was chillier than he expected to be.

Mikoto cursed under his breath for not taking one of Reishi's scarf when he walked out from the flat. Three hundred days of not having to worry over frigid winter ( _of being dead_ ) would do that to anyone.

Also, there was the absence of red in the back of his mind being easily forgotten despite its wildness and ferocity.

While he should be grateful for not having to deal with gritting pain that came with being the Red King, he missed its overwhelming warmth. The prospect of striding to SCEPTER 4 headquarters suddenly seemed even more appalling—at least not when he was freezing his ass off while having empty stomach.

…and yes, it had been growling since his departure from Reishi’s flat. Mikoto quickly scanned the deserted road for shops and let out a relieved sigh when he saw a ramen stall not several meters away from where he stood. He quickly moved closer, half of his mind already imagining the taste before he even had the chance to greet the owner.

“Excuse me,” he greeted, his eyebrows raised when he saw no one there saved for the stall owner. Said man did not even bother to turn around and greet him back… which was weird, really, because Mikoto expected some level of response. He shrugged and went for the furthermost seat. Before he could even order, the tassel which covered the stall shifted; there was another person—a woman—entering the stall quietly, clad in simple white yukata.

 _Claudia_ fucking _Weismann._

For all good and holy, what are the chances of him encountering this other-wordly woman, really?

She quietly moved to the spot next to him, her white hakama fluttering in motion. There was something bundled around her neck, which he thought at first as a fluffy yellow scarf. But then it twitched softly, revealing patch of white around the edge of the scarf, pointy white whiskers, and round brown eyes. That was when he realised that she had a fox-like creature circling around her neck—a living heater.

 _Twitch_ _._ "I never knew you keep animals around," he mused, his eyes trained on the fluffy being around her neck. It wiggled again there, and Mikoto wondered if it was due to his attention.

There was a soft snort coming from her as she took the seat nearby, her hand ruffling the animal's neck. It purred softly despite remaining comfy there. "It's a stray kitsune that I found some days ago. And before you ask, yes, it's a real fox spirit."

In a world where the power to rule other's fates exists, he really should have known that demons and ghosts do too to some degree. To actually see someone bringing one example is something else altogether. Mikoto blinked at her in disbelief, "there are demons...?"

There was a mysterious smirk plastered on her face, "only when you look at the right place."

He hummed in response, choosing to let the matter drop. He had no love for supernatural phenomenon, even when he was one for almost a year.

Mikoto was about to speak some more when he noticed shifts in the stall-owner movements. Before he knew it, two bowls of shoyu ramen were already served before them. No one should blame him for gawking at the owner, whose back was already facing him once again, really, for the moving so quickly that _he did not even notice._ Also why did he not even try being courteous? Wasn't that part of customer service?

"You're wondering why the owner does not greet you, and still serve you a bowl," she supplied, hand ruffling her kitsune's neck before feeding it a bite of tofu with her chopstick. It let out a delighted sigh, before going still again... as if it was just awake for snacks. "The answer's quite simple, really. The stall owner cannot see us directly, because we're dead. What he saw might probably a cat napping no his seating stall."

 _Well that_ _doesn't_ _make sense._ "And you expect me to believe that shit when I am able to do what ghosts cannot?" He gritted out. For a moment, he felt his blue aura stir under his command easily... so easily that it would leap out and butcher the woman down. It cooed him of things, that it was justified to act as such, that it would follow his call whatever it may be—like a silky whisper of a siren.

She cast him another cold look; in that one moment, that sensation subsided, as if it cowered under the authority of the proxy. Mikoto's thoughts wavered for a single moment, long enough for him to realize what the blue aura had made him _think._ He might seem blown by this revelation, that even the blue aura poses as much challenge as his red did, since Claudia's expression softened in understanding. "It's a bit hard to rein it at first, but you'll get it controlled eventually. Now... where was I?"

The kitsune purred suddenly and then nudged at her neck to gain attention, to which the woman complied. "Ah yes, we were going to tell him about the primroses. How clever of you."

Another raised eyebrows and questioning look, "it's been listening to our conversation?"

There was another hint on amusement behind those usually emotionless eyes as she teased him again, "don't be such a jerk, Mikoto. He can understand us _clearly_. Now, as I was saying..." she fed it again with one of her tofu before proceeding to her point, "the primrose that I gave you is a medium made with the help from the Blue King—with my help, of course. It gives your spirit a form... though how it works is based on his perception of you. Consequently, you are only real to him... and the natural world around you."

He felt his stomach churned; the implication of his situation suddenly felt more gratifying. "That doesn't—how does that even _work_?"

Claudia suddenly found her ramen more interesting than him, her hand subtly playing with he chopsticks. “The process is complicated. Simply said, the only reason why you can only interact with Reishi is because you are now his clansman. Therefore, you gain his protection as well as his power. That primrose which I gave you before act as...” she seemed to pause for a moment, as if trying to parse difficult words into something intelligible for him to follow, “…a …stabiliser—an anchor that keeps you steady and solid, at least within the Blue King’s authority."

Another pause. “In summary, I cannot greet the others?"

She knew whom he meant. They have been side-by-side for less than a year; it was enough for a wandering ghost like her, one who had witnessed dramas of so many different characters, to know where his thought would trail. Claudia let a resigned smile, “no, you cannot. The Red King might be able to see you, given that you’re a walking blue aura battery now, but not anyone else. I’m sorry, but you did say that you’re ready with this price. Unfortunately, this is the best that I can grant you: several years worth of memories with your loved one."

It should have hurt to be reminded that all of these are happening due to his meddling. And yet, when he remembered Reishi’s relief, Mikoto knew that if he were to be given another chance, he wold have chosen him all over. She was right that he should be more grateful with what he had been given. But he wanted **so much more**.

(Yet did he even deserve it? His sins laid heavy on the ground—the sins which he still needed to make up for.)

Silence lingered, to the point that the woman believed nothing  was going to be exchanged—at least until Mikoto felt the tug of Reishi’s will across his bond, filled with urgency and _cold anger_ —

(Can Reishi be angry at all?)

Mikoto reflexively turned around and flipped one of the tassel. His eyes quickly looked to the sky—to where the blue king was supposed to be—only to stop at the direction where SCEPTER 4 lied. The tug at the edge of his hearing grew even more insistent; along with anxiety came dread, as he saw the Blue King’s Damocles looming dangerously over the building. Something was wrong and _he was not there with him to find out_.

“…you should go, Mikoto. He needs you now more than ever."

He ran before she turned at him, failing to catch the last of her words, “For the empire he has built is falling apart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if this chapter ends up to be some sort of info-dump.


	3. Ihre Sorgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you would be so kind, would you please get a cup of coffee for Suoh?"
> 
> This time, she should have imagined this because _did he just ask her to make coffee for a dead man?_ If it were true, part of her squirmed; one year had passed and Mikoto’s shadow still loomed over this office, his ghost haunting her captain’s life. Perhaps that was the burden of killing a king; Seri wouldn’t know for sure. “Captain,” she started, unsure to proceed, "Mikoto Suoh is already…” _gone. dead. scattered to the wind._ Surely he remembered this.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Ihre Sorgen:** Her Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is released in honor of Tenkei kicking Munakata off his high-and-mighty pedestal, thank. The focus of this chapter will be on miss Seri \o/
> 
> Unbeta'ed, but still... kindly enjoy ~~and catch those typos if you can~~.

Working at SCEPTER 4 did not leave much social life. But for one Seri Awashima, she was willing to pay that price given her current position. The whole premise may paint her as an ambitious person, willing to go through great lengths for the sake of glory and wealth (like general middle-class person would think), but, really, Seri was not like that. If she were that kind of person, she would have thought hundred ways to topple her current captain from his position, even with him being her King, and carried out the one that will most likely put her on that pedestal.

(There was something that always whispered her such reviling thoughts, though. If she didn't knew better, she would have taken those poisonous thoughts as her own. But Seri knew herself enough that _she was not_. Funny how the blue aura seemed to squirm under her skin whenever such thoughts arise.)

It's just that she loved Shizume with all of her heart.

Whenever she walked through the roads of this bustling city, with a gentle smile that she rarely showed to any of her subordinates, she would remember her daily lives as she grew up, the old buildings where she used to play with her friends, the red bean stalls she frequented everyday when she went home. Call her sentimental, but she would fight tooth and nail to preserve Shizume's daily lives. Thus, to that end, she willingly followed Reishi Munakata.

(The first time they met, she wondered whether her attraction towards him was because of the power he received. Yet when she heard the story of her charismatic captain during their visit to his family—how he had grown up bustling greater vision than any ordinary men do—Seri wondered if Dresden Slate granted him the right as a King for bearing those qualities in the first place. Some people said that some people are born to lead; Seri felt that her captain is a fitting example.)

At that moment, to follow Reishi was to stand by even when everyone was already back to their respective places, even when she was all alone on her desk. She was the lieutenant of this merry band of justice fighters, and it was part of her responsibility to take care of her captain, especially when one of the cruxes of their problem suddenly walked in without prior notice. He might not realised the subtle twist on his face when her captain faced the Silver King, but Seri knew those changes at a bat; she could count the things that could rattle her King with one hand, and Yashiro Isana’s presence will be added among that list.

Let it be said that Seri had every right in the world to be concerned.

The blonde woman let out a tired sigh, her hand tirelessly playing with her working pad. Her eyes absently wondered on her cup of tea that she prepared not-so-long ago. Then again, her sense of time must be askew, as that cup of tea was no longer hot. So far, her King had not stepped out of his room, which should mean a good thing—

—until she heard a loud explosion from his office. She had never cursed so loudly in her years of service until then, her feet moving quickly to bring her back to his office. There was nothing wrong with the exterior, meaning that the explosion must have happened inside. _He’s a King, he’ll be fine, please let everything be fine, please please please—_

She shoved any reluctance still dancing in her mind and blasted inside. Reishi’s room was a jumble of mess. Paperworks scattered on the floor, several of his teacups were spread out over his zen space, and the chandelier hanging on the plafond swayed in vestige of the King’s power. The only property damage in the area was broken windows for both hinges and glasses.

The Silver King stood undaunted, his parasol left opened on his grip despite being indoors, while her King...

Seri had to hold her breath in disbelief when she saw him rattled, electric blue gleamed off his stoic frame. He had _Tenro_ drawn out, steely violet eyes trained on the silver-haired man. Tension may paintd his frame (which was not new; she’d seen this side of her captain once or twice), but what worried her the most was how visibly unstable his aura was, as if it would collapse under her Captain’s vice control.

“My apologies for alarming you, miss Awashima,” he said calmly, his eyes still transfixed on the Silver King before him who had chosen to float several centimeters over the ground. There was nothing on Reishi’ face that indicated fatigue; hell, one look, and Seri knew that something was still not right if it warranted _that scowl to stay this long_.

The tension was so thick that she could cut it with proverbial knife and have herself back-lashed. It was a good thing that her Captain was the one to break silence (because, as much as she would take care of him, there were things that Seri was not fond to intervene with), “If you would be so kind, could you please escort the Silver King out?"

The lieutenant was about to comment when she heard the other King uttered, “no, you don’t have to. I’m leaving now."

The silver-haired man flicked his parasol and then floated higher, but not so high that he bumped on the plafond. He eyed the window for a moment, seemingly measuring its height, and leisurely floated away. For an instant, the man seemed about to launch away without another word, until he abruptly stopped with head turned at the other King, silvery gaze cast with something akin to… Worry? Fear? Condolence? Seri certainly couldn’t decipher it.

“Please consider my advice, Munakata-san,”  _Advice? What advice?_ “If we want to prevent the tragedy of ten years ago, you will need every help that you can get."

If her King was blown by Yashiro’s words, it did not show on his face, “I believe you are overstaying your welcome, Silver King."

Those silver seemed to linger on violet for a moment, before shifting their focus to the empty space next to her, the zen space where he previously occupied. Its lack of presence seemd to intrigue him immensely, like a discovery for the man to decipher. _But there was nothing there_ , she thought, _so why the concerned face?_

“Then I’m taking my leave,” he finally said with a sheepish smile. “As I tell you previously, Munakata-san, please keep this meeting quiet,” the smile turned soft, “you gave me your word, after all."

A swish of wind, and the presence of silver sanctum was gone in an instant. Reishi’s aura was the only one left lingering in the premise, his control finally re-consolidating once more—or so Seri perceived. He drew back his sword, and she wondered whether she just imagined a relieved sigh coming from the man. For a moment, she caught his glance locking on the same spot where the Silver King scrutinized.

“If you would be so kind, would you please get a cup of coffee for Suoh?"

This time, she should have imagined this because _did he just ask her to make coffee for a dead man_? Part of her squirmed; one year had passed and Mikoto’s shadow still loomed over this office, his ghost haunting her captain’s life. “Captain,” she started, unsure to proceed, "Mikoto Suoh is already…” _gone. dead. scattered to the wind_. Surely he remembered this.

There was a puzzled look on Reishi’s face as he tried to rebut her unvoiced reminder. But then, those violet eyes looked back at that empty spot, its gleam turning from erratic to understanding. His next words puzzled her the most, “…no, I mean, could you please get a cup for me?"

 _But you never drink coffee,_ she wanted to protest. There was a reason why Reishi kept a tea-space at the corner of his office, not a coffee maker. But then she caught the silent pleading in his eyes that screamed, _everything’s fine, please just obey this little wish of mine_.

So she obeyed (what other thing can she do, deny her King such menial request?). Her mind already generated a to-do list to clean the mess up, with every broken details in the area jotted mentally so that she could visit the SCEPTER 4 general administration subdivision. It was easier to think of the things she could improve rather than to worry about her captain’s split attention towards that empty spot; she was reminded of the cracks on her captain's Damocles and really wished that there was no connection between that and her captain's detachment.

* * *

_This is a bad idea,_ Seri glowered internally, blue eyes flashing between the red bean paste dump inside her glass of martini and the one person who tried to ‘cheer' her up by putting it in the first place. Oh, but she knew a bribery when she saw one; the amount of red bean paste that the man dumped into her drink was too _generous_. Also the Red King’s presence next to her meant that she would not be able to squirm out of this 'interrogation'.

Sometimes she forgot how cunning this man can be.

“That frown really tarnishes your beauty, Seri-chan~” he whistled _,_ his words laced with flirtation that turned somber at the drop of a hat, "you know you can tell us anything if you ever hit a stump, right?”

Blue eyes locked with Hazel for a brief moment, and Seri let out a sigh. She finished her half-emptied martini in one single gulp, earning an appalled look from the bar owner. As soon as the dizziness hit, she quickly regretted her decision. At the very least, the whole thing did not end up with Seri’s forehead hitting the table; she managed to hold her head together, the image of her captain swirling inside her mind.

“The captain,” she started, her resolution crushing the remnants of hesitance by speaking with these two reds, “I notice changes in his actions, nowadays. True, he is still performing beyond expectation, despite all odds. Yet sometimes… it’s like he is not there,” _his gaze always lingering on that empty spot just around the corner_ , _an enigmatic smile for no one in particular_ , “sometimes he would talk as if Suoh-san was there with him. While he looks successfully pulling himself together during this year, I’m not expecting this kind of development either."

“Mikoto, eh,” he hummed, his gaze moved to the empty spot where the late King used to stay, “You are worried that he finally—” the man stopped abruptly, noticing the edge of Seri’s stare—a reminder that he was treading on thin ice when he decided to open this can of worm, that even if Anna will not stand by seeing violence between her subject and the the other King’s, Seri’s reckoning _will_ _find and hurt_ _him_ —and sighed.

“If you want to ask me whether those are the symptoms of a cracking Damocles, I can’t really tell,” he said somberly. Seri can see his fingers twitching, searching for something to hold on to—perhaps his cigar. Maybe it was a sign of his sorrow as she inadvertently dug old wound. “The changes… they were subtle. Totsuka’s death might have been the trigger of his cracks, and somehow… I can almost understand. After all, the only person who really understood his woes and worries was probably Totsuka. He earned his spot to placate Mikoto's worry and fear even if only a little.” 

(There was resignation in his voice, so deep that she thought he would never heal. But he was a grown adult with another King to guide and look after; the only thing that he can do was to carry that baggage with him and look forward. Personally, Seri hoped that such particular scars would heal, just like his others.

He said her frown marred her beauty; if only he could see how that shadow looming over his smile dampened his disposition.)

There was rustles of fabric as the young King next to her shifted on her seat, earning her utmost attention from them both. The girl in red had her eyes trained at her caretaker, a soft smile breaking, “you have a special spot too, Izumo,” she paused, “everyone has."

He looked at her for a moment, his face twisting as if he was fighting against that shadow looming over his life, until his lips slowly broke into a smile. “…yeah. You’re right, Anna. I suppose Mikoto, despite his silence and aloofness, had always kept us close."

The girl nodded in agreement, her smile fading when she had her attention fixed again on the lieutenant. Seri couldn’t help but fidget under her scrutiny. “…when I see Reishi, I see a storm of blue brewing. It is wild yet calm, heavy yet light. It is… a beautiful shade of blue."

The young King paused again, her eyes finally breaking contact with Seri’s. For some reason’, the girl found her marbles more interesting. "It made me think of Mikoto."

There was something about Anna’s words that made her mind flinch, as if it was trying to grasp for any connection between her own observation and the girl’s comments—that _her gut instinct was right_. She wanted to ask more, to know what made her say so—

—her phone beeped loudly in the empty bar; a text from Saruhiko Fushimi instead of direct phone call that made her inside churn:

"Green on the move. Captain’s here. Vertical-Over. Mihashira _."_


	4. Seine Überraschung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he saw the Blue King standing just outside of the tower, eyes trained on the civilians that got mixed up with JUNGLE with no sign of mercy, the only thing that Saruhiko can feel was his _indifference and arrogance_. Something unfit to his feeling suddenly settled inside his stomach; perhaps that was his gut instinct telling him to see upwards—and he did so.
> 
> He was just not expecting Reishi’s Damocles to appear over them with so much visible cracks that his stomach flipped.
> 
> “Shit,” Saruhiko breathed out, his aura humming with _sick pride and joy_ , and closed his eyes, “just… shit."
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Seine Überraschung:** His Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on fire and I'm blaming this to episode 8. So here, have some Fushimi feels with me. ~~Also yay, I'm making him cursing like a sailor-- #no~~
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

His job _sucked._

The one time Seri took her leave meant a whole day of him being the mother of all these slackers—these people who claim to do their job well but _never within his fucking standard—_ in field. Since the procedures governed any ranking SCEPTER 4 members to report to the highest ranking officer in the field during times of crisis, Saruhiko was left to coordinate the whole squad.

By all things that is holy, why can’t his Captain take over some of his lieutenant’s work? Oh wait, _that man was the source of this cluster-fuck of trouble anyway._

“Fushimi-san, some JUNGLE members have infiltrated our first layer of defense!” Enomoto’s panic voice startled him from his reverie, and Saruhiko was tempted to screech at him because _damn him_ _he's_ _formulating_ _a_ _fucking_ _plan_ _and he needs to fucking_ _concentrate_ _._ All that frustration, yet the only thing that came out from his lips was a dissatisfied click of tongue.

"Check on Hidaka and Akiyama and send out Domyouji and Kamo for reinforcement. Set Benzai and Fuse to scout for perimeters around southern building. You stay here to provide support," he ordered, before grabbing _Subaru_ from the side of control panel. Enomoto cast him an uneasy look that silently spoke, _where are you going? Don’t you have responsibility here?_

"Well, responsibility can go to hell,” he muttered. For some reason, Saruhiko can not make himself to stay still; the blue aura under his skins stirred restlessly, driving him to the point of irritation. He can understand if his red aura was the one causing it, but _blue aura, his Captain's sanctum of all things_? Saruhiko had no desire to think of what that mean, but his _stupid_ mind kept on whirring on possible reasons.

“I’ll check on the captain,” he gruffly said before the other man got the chance to retort. He was about to step out of the van—one-step-closer out of the van—when a very familiar alarm beeped loudly. There were three things that happened after that: the screen flashing red, Enomoto’s face going two shades paler with concern, and Saruhiko deciding to get out of that stuffed van.

The blue aura sang under his skin with victory and pride, granting him a sense of calm elation that did not fit the whole situation; they were in the middle of _another fucking siege_ , even when they were more prepared, and battle fanfare shouldn’t be what his Captain’s sanctum sing.

When he saw the Blue King standing just outside of the tower, eyes trained on the civilians that got mixed up with JUNGLE with no sign of mercy, the only thing that Saruhiko can feel was his _indifference_ and _arrogance_. Something unfit to his feeling suddenly settled inside his stomach; perhaps that was his gut instinct telling him to see _upwards_ —and he did so.

He was just not expecting Reishi’s Damocles to appear over them with so much visible cracks that his stomach flipped.

“Shit,” Saruhiko breathed out, his aura humming with _sick_ _pride and joy_ , and closed his eyes, “just… shit."

* * *

Thinking back, his uneasiness began with a gentle hum of serenity.

Saruhiko had been a firm believer that power was a tool to make and destroy things. Power, in its intrinsic value, had no meaning; power was just _there,_ pure and untainted. But without a user, it was just a formless speck that represented _nothing_ , for what was power without direction? Only when people entered the equation that it became defined, just like Mikoto Suoh giving meaning to his red as ‘violence’ (and _bonds_ ) as well as the Gold King did his gold as ‘prosperity’.

Reishi Munakata was just the same, albeit a little bit different, upon closer inspection. The man defined his power into that of ‘order’. He acted as the party who must execute judgment fairly, even going so far as giving everybody a fair chance to repent. ‘Order’ meant distance and impartiality in rendering judgment; this was what the blue sanctum praised and sang, even when his King acted like any (twisted) social _humans_ do. So when Saruhiko got up with a close hum within his mind, whispering serene things like _you have done the right thing, you’ve chosen well, after all Misaki was the one to leave you so it was fine to repay the favor in full_ , the thought sent him reeling from unconsciousness in the middle of the night.

That twisted sense of safety and care soothing him to _be proud of the choices he had made_ lingered disgustingly at the back of his mind. He desperately sought for his glasses lying on his right side, once again immersing himself to the familiarity of his personal dorm room. When the sense of familiarity settled once more, he tried to control his breathing evenly, part of him scolding himself for almost pathetically breaking down with _just a sick (but never his own) encouragement_. Hell, despite the things he had said and done to Misaki, he would _never_ be proud of it. That decision was one necessity after another in his life, one of a series that were made to _protect himself_.

But to say that he was proud of that decision… that was not him.

(That decision was not meant to be carried with _pride,_ anyway. It had more defining substances than just _a sense of fulfillment over his achievement_. That decision was denoted as the pain of cutting his feeling down, hating that person to the point of no return, doing everything _just to fit in the new environment that was Blue Clan_. There was no _pride_ in the things that he did, only bitter acceptance and hatred towards Misaki's naivety, masqueraded with loathing and disdain.)

When Reishi’s visit to Mihashira tower became more frequent, Saruhiko’s hunch told him to look for his Captain’s Weismann level. Given his clearance, it was not hard to obtain his routine analysis. It did not take him long enough to know that something was going on to his Captain, but he let the elephant in the room be; if Reishi claimed that nothing was wrong… who was he to tell otherwise?

When Seri voiced her concern over how their Captain’s Weismann level, he told her what Reishi told him: that there was nothing to worry about. Kings will disclose such things when/if needed be; if he decided not to disclose that, Saruhiko was calm enough to accept that… at least until both of them saw Reishi’s Damocles appeared over Mihashira Tower. Suddenly, he was back at his bed, that power hummed again of his decision—that _he was right even when he was_ wrong—and Saruhiko kicked those thoughts away with each step he took further to the Slate chamber. Reishi Munakata stood there, his plastic smile a sore view to his eyes, as he gently reprimanded Seri that it will be another busy day—that there was nothing to worry about, because everything was _under control_.

Saruhiko was ready to believe so, until his blue aura uncharacteristically squirmed under his control, his previous thoughts quickly resurfacing like wave of cold ice, to which he quickly _vanquished_ , until nothing remained saved for a one-sided conclusion: _their Blue King was breaking._

It was only much later that he realized the underlying reason behind that phenomenon—the true meaning behind 'the burden of killing a King'. But in that moment, Saruhiko was left with more questions... with no one to provide clear-cut answers.

 _But it is alright,_ he thought, because even as the playing field tilted not to his favor, things were getting much more interesting.

* * *

The Blue King was a demon of smiles and calmness when he descended upon the battlefield. He would be the onslaught of justice, while his subordinates tailed behind him to clear out the small fries that tried to land a blow on him. His enemies would part before his calculated might, with only Kings being able to stand up to his force. But no matter what happened, Reishi Munakata will keep that smile up.

The fact that there was a frown there instead occupied most of Saruhiko’s mind.

There was no time for him to analyse the changes in his captain, though, not when he heard Enomoto’s professional but panic voice from his comlink telling him that their defense had been ultimately breached, with a member of JUNGLE leading the pincer attack decimating both Domyouji's and Kamo's forces. Saruhiko clicked his tongue in distaste, part of him wanting to curse those who failed his given tasks while the other admitting that such result was inevitable, especially when he could see from distance how the JUNGLE vassal cleared out his obstacles in a mess of green lightning and grey smoke.

When the last of their defense fell, Saruhiko quickly pulled _Subaru_ from its scabbard, sensing all too well the direction where the boy launched out next. Green edge clashed with his aura-coated saber in a blast. The force behind that blade of light was enough to make him grit his teeth. He made a mental note to throttle whoever updated this person's data; they were _inaccurate as hell_.

The boy realized that his blow was quickly blocked and jumped away to rebuild his stance. Saruhiko was already one step ahead, his left hand reaching for his hidden blades and aimed for the boy's thighs and knees. Apparently, one step was not enough; the boy's scythe-like blade suddenly expanded, wide enough for him to block incomings mid-air. The boy safely landed on his feet, his smug smile too gleeful for his own liking.

Oh, Saruhiko was so gonna throttle someone after this.

"As expected of the third strongest member of blue clan. I suppose you're worth all those points," he sniggered, feet already planted to make for another launch, "be still will you? I want to make this quick."

Saruhiko wanted to make a comeback retort, but Sukuna Gojo was already out to sever his head with that green scythe. He would have to settle with another click of tongue as he quickly pulled his saber to defend himself. He was about to reach for his other knives when his aura thrummed so suddenly, expanding in a way that forced the boy to leap back in surprise. Saruhiko blinked in wonder, for the first time feeling dazzled by how his power jumped without his expressed will.

But then there were screams from JUNGLE members all around him as blue aura suddenly stroke at their direction, some of them being flung into the air. The source of them was one Reishi Munakata, still standing beneath the shadow of Mihashira, still with that frown plastered on his face—still with impartial gaze that made Saruhiko doubt this person's humanity.

The boy had already issued retreat order, which meant that the Blue King’s intervention was an unexpected factor in his little calculation. Saruhiko was tempted to give chase, __because__ _it will be the right thing to do then,_ _prioritizing_ _the capture of an enemy officer instead of tending to his injured_ _underlings_ _._ _It was their own fault, after all, for not performing to his standard; if they were to die, it will be because of their incompetence_ —

He froze in his place, his blue aura still gleaming and singing uncontrollably as he struggled to get his thoughts under control. Every thought that had poured out for a brief moment sounded like what he will most likely do. But even then, Saruhiko knew there were procedures—and this kind of situation warranted him to prioritize lives over war prisoners. Seri would have his head first if any of their charge became permanently injured.

Then the most unimaginable thing happened.

There was a blue humanoid silhouette in front of him, his limbs made the motion to shake his captain's out from whatever trance he was in. The curious thing was... his captain seemed to acknowledge that shadow's presence, even when he was sure that the shadow was just _a ghost_. Both of them seemed to exchange words, all the more reason to think that it was real, Reishi's face twisting slightly with _hurt_ (he's not imagining this, right?). Several seconds seemed to pass, before the Captain finally nodded as if in understanding. To his surprise, his blue aura suddenly calmed down, the sound of his reviling thoughts suddenly felt like a distant dream. Reishi's aura suddenly dimmed down, along with that familiar silhouette, and Saruhiko had already found himself running towards that man because _damn him_ —

"You," he growled, his hand already reaching for his captain's lapel to tug him forward, earning him a surprised look from the captain, "you better have a good explanation for this."

—Mikoto Suoh was dead and it contradicted the pale apparition that took his form just moments before everything went normal.


	5. Ihre Konferenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Abdication, he thought, was a theoretical possibility that he never explored previously, not when he cut himself off from the rest of the world. But when Jin Habari failed to slay Genji Kagutsu, leading to a catastrophe that transformed topographical situation of South Kanto, Shiro had to believe that there is an alternative to that fate.
> 
> But delving deep into that theory required wiling person to commit his time; the only one willing, Daikaku Kokujouji, to be his guinea pig had less than a week to work with.)
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Ihre Konferenz:** Our Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about Shiro, shall we?
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Please kindly enjoy.

Their meeting should have occurred in better atmosphere than _this._

This, being a sudden visit by a dead-to-the-world King that flabbergasted the lieutenant of SCEPTER 4 (though fortunately, there was no major uproar among SCEPTER 4 members in general; his identity as the Silver King was only known limited to other clan's higher-ups, though that will likely change in the next few days), was certainly not the best way to appeal to another King. But now that the Blue King was before him, all attentive but wary, Shiro was glad that he finally got the chance to meet and, hopefully, have a decent conversation with the man. After all, his introduction was pretty much short-live and had low personal impact; dying moments after their brief meeting tended to do that.

He thought to make a light banter, testing how much ire he obtained from due to his (mock) demise. One cold glare was enough for him to know that the implication of his action set a chain of events that upset the Blue King. There was also that biting comeback as Reishi tried to put pressure on him. Shiro’s thoughts were not on his tone, though, not when there was a more pressing matter at hand: the King’s blue aura was fluctuating so heavily, _so similar to how red aura did,_ that he automatically reached out to his own sanctum _to protect himself first_ , before trying to placate this man’s power. So his silver aura quietly seeped in, filling the gaps that the man had trouble knowing so that his power can stabilize.

(He tried this method a few times during his recovery process with Lieutenant, under the latter’s direction. While the Gold King was nowhere as unstable as the Blue King right then, he can still feel the smooth unperturbed flow of his aura, rushing around him. It felt like a cocoon of gold that encompassed his presence tightly, so tightly that even Shiro felt not a single cracks in its structure. His instinct told him that it was the gold aura should be: _consistent, overflowing, and supple_.

The blue aura that Reishi gave meaning to should have similar tone. Yet when he sensed his sanctum looking all alright outside while full of unstable gaps inside, Shiro cannot help but shifted uneasily; he needed not to look the other way to deduce that this man was breaking under the pressure, like a star devolving into a blackhole of mass destruction.

One question remained: what caused him to lose his grip?)

When he saw the changes on Reishi’s posture—his stiff shoulder relaxing, his gaze softening a little, the lines on his forehead becoming light shades—Shiro held his breath and sighed; the hardest part was coming and he was still unsure as to _how to drop his proposal—the bomb that every King should_ _be wary of_.

"I admit that we should not meet… at least not this soon,” Shiro started carefully, feeling the light pressure from that violet eyes, “but situation has changed, thus my visit here…"

 _Here goes nothing_ , he thought as his grey eyes stared at those violet with determination, his words being stuck at the end of his vocal chord, ready to be voiced. “I believe it is time for you to abdicate."

(Abdication, he thought, was a theoretical possibility that he never explored previously, not when he cut himself off from the rest of the world. But when Jin Habari failed to slay Genji Kagutsu, leading to a catastrophe that transformed topographical situation of South Kanto, Shiro had to believe that _there_ is _an alternative to that fate_.

But delving deep into that theory required wiling person to commit his time; the only one willing, Daikaku Kokujouji, to be his guinea pig had less than a week to work with.)

Nothing changed from his calm expression, but his remarks certainly grew colder. “Preposterous,” he scowled, hands already crossed as his violet eyes glinted dangerously—with malice. “You can feel it in your bone, Silver King, that this power cannot be given over, no matter how many successors you have chosen."

His grey eyes glinted, a resigned smile showing, “theoretically… it is possible. But since we don’t have—"

“And what makes you think that I,” the Blue King interjected because, yes, Shiro maybe deserved that kind of treatment for causing mayhem in the past due to his inaction, “ _need a successor of power at all_?"

Grey eyes closed, as Shiro’s thoughts jumbled from that perfect explanation to a mess of unintelligible information driven by that _dainty remark_. Reishi’s power shifted under his grab, turning more and more unstable with each fluctuation; he will have to deliver his message as effectively as possible _and_ with the right approach, before his Weismann level goes vertical-over.

Or maybe… he should let him.

The idea was cruel; he was going to show him how unstable his present self was so that the Blue King would comply with the plan of action. So Shiro opened his eyes, his silver sanctum contracted to the point that Reishi lost balance over the power that stabilised him for a time. Suddenly, his blue aura wisped erratically; if he was surprised, Reishi did not show it, even when his Weismann level kept on climbing, until it went vertical-over.

There was a sword over their place; a sword even when there was no fight between between both of them. Shiro pointed upwards, through the glass-roof above, where Reishi's Damocles hung eerily, as if to make a point, “Munakata-san, if you keep things as is… I fear that your Damocles will fall—and there will be no one to buffer the damage."

If Reishi was perturbed, it did not show on his face. In fact, the man only let out a willful smile, as if he was the victor of this argument, "I already have contingency in place, but I appreciate your _concern_ ," another edge in words as his power collapsed further, and Shiro started to wonder if he had taken the right choice. "If you are here only to inform me, perhaps you should spend better time instead with your—"

It was... interesting to see how the Blue King suddenly paused mid-sentence, his attention suddenly snapping to the window of his office. Shiro couldn't help but follow suit, wondering what was so interesting about the darkened exterior just beyond that window.

That was when he felt it, the screech of Blue surging from outside of the office. The presence was so alarming that Shiro opened his parasol in reflex to protect himself, before _something_ blasted through the window. When he was sure that the dust had settled, the first thing Shiro did was making sure that the other King was alright. However, he was clearly surprised when he found the man standing unfazed by what was happening around him, his attention had moved to somewhere around his damaged recreational space.

But what he was more surprised about was that Reishi's aura was _stable_.

The Silver King just stared at the man, his aura quickly prodded at the other's, only to find that the gap had been magically _filled_ ; not even a crease, just _beautiful flow of blue amidst the chaos_ —

“You will fix the mess you've made, Suoh."

And Shiro blinked, because surely the man did not just refer him as the dead Red King, did he? "Munakata-san," his voice was filled with pity, "Suoh-san died." _You_ _killed_ _him. "_ There is no one here but you and me."

Reishi just stared at him, as though he had grown a second head, "but he is _there_ ," he pointed at his recreational zone, all torn apart and _glowing with power_ , "and he's alive—"

There was a shift in his expression, as if he was debating with someone whom Shiro cannot see. During that event, Shiro felt his Blue aura stirred with more control than what he had witnessed in the last hour, until they finally settled down, Reishi's expression being a wall of enigma. "You have no right to do that."

Shiro couldn't help but blink in confusion, _do what?_ “Pardon?"

"My sanctum,” he spat with a rage that was unfit for a Blue King like him. Shiro’s brain was catching up to his explanation, until dread finally settled inside his bowel due to one conclusion: _he noticed_.

(He was being _discreet_. Even Daikaku was wrong in counting on how many times Shiro had probed onto his aura.)

"It doesn't matter even if you are the First King. You have _no_ right to trespass my sanctum," he bit out, all cold and lashing, his hand already reaching for his sabre. "I believe it is time for you to leave, Silver King."

And Shiro did as he said, though he preferred not to go through the building—not when the office was left as is. The man simply floated out of the room, hovering over the building as he gathered what he had learned so far.

There were things that he needed to discuss with the Gold King, while there was still time.

* * *

"It is that bad?"

Shiro nodded absent-mindedly, his posture all slack beside Daikaku's bed as he consulted about his encounter with the Blue King to his old friend. He didn't realize that he'd been gripping the sheet in frustration, and Shiro was sure that his friend could sense it. "He's breaking, lieutenant, and I don't think that he could bear it much longer... The burden of killing a King."

Daikaku remained pensive in his bed, eyes closed as if he was sleeping. But Shiro knew better; fifty years might have passed, might have transformed that dear person whom he met in Dresden, but Shiro wanted to believe that his quietness remained even when he had finally grown silver hairs himself. "He has been," and Daikaku paused if only for a moment, “one of the people whom I would entrust the safekeeping of Japan… as well as the Dresden Slate."

“That’s… unfortunate,” he replied, one side of him aching with guilt and envy; guilt, because he was responsible for letting this whole mess gets out of hand, and envy, for not being the one whom the man could entrust his love—his life’s work, his _everything_ —because Shiro was a _fool_ for deciding to sulk in the last fifty years. The teen let out a long sigh as he tilted his head, his eyes sombrely staring at the paintings on the ceiling, “who are the other options?"

“There was another one, though his life has been forfeited. I see no reason to consider him any longer,” the Gold King let another pause settling in. But not long after that, he chuckled, earning him a curious look from the First King, “If I never considered you as the one whom I would entrust them to, I assure you, it was never due to malice."

Right then, Shiro wanted to laugh because… fifty years since their parting and Daikaku finally had the skill to discern his mood? Why was he not there during these changes? If he knew what he would lose by choosing the path that led them here, maybe, just maybe...

“Weis—no, _Adolf_ ,” he asked, and Shiro perked at the mention of his old name. He may not be Adolf anymore to anyone else, but Shiro let it stride because _it was Lieutenant_ , “I will not entrust the Slate to you—not until the time is right."

It may be his arrogance, but Shiro would like to think that the power of immortality that his status bestowed will prevent him from changing in the first place, hence making him the perfect guardian of the slate. Daikaku ought to _know_ , because his frail hand quickly reached for the Silver King. It was enough for the man to turn around and face him. Shiro smiled then, because _he was sorry that he cannot understand_ , while his best friend _knew_ the faults in his characters.

(The ambition to make the world a better place.)

“When both of you are ready, however,” he sighed and closed his eyes, his golden aura slowly reconvened to resting state, “I will entrust it to you."

Before he could ask who the person Daikaku was referring to, he was already resting, leaving Shiro to the mercy of his thoughts… and past guilts.

* * *

The coming days filled him with dread for the unknown. Shiro knew that he must face the incremental result of his own inaction, for he had promised not to run away again. So the Silver King took dive, the whole world blurring around him as Daikaku’s last words reverberated inside his mind: _tell her I’m sorry_.

 _Who do you mean?_ he asked, his sanctum reaching out to his best friend because _they were losing and there was no way to reverse it once he let go_. The Gold King closed his eyes, a tired smile etched on his lips, as he breathed out his last:

_Weismann._


	6. Die Festigkeitsgrenze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can feel it, you know,” Mikoto’s voice tore through his thoughts—a beacon of stillness once more amidst chaos in his own mind, “the ripples, the times when you’re too distraught to keep your aura in check, the moments when you tried to regain your focus only to lose it.”
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Die Festigkeitsgrenze:** The Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This serves as borderline fluff/angst. It occurs on the night after the siege of Mihashira in "Seine Uberraschung".
> 
> Unbeta'ed, but please... enjoy.

The first thing that he saw when he woke up was _Mikoto’s silhouette_.

The first thing he realised when his consciousness returned, however, was how still his thoughts were, compared to the time when he haphazardly crashed onto his own bed, all of his basic needs forgotten saved for sleep. He could feel every inch of his white shirt stuck to his skin due to undue sweat, smelling like dusts, fire, and _pollution_. In normal condition, he would have would have gone quickly to the bathroom to clean himself. But Reishi felt too content with his current state of thoughts and preferred to stay where he was, given how the last few weeks had been one hell after another: capturing stray strains, his meeting with the Silver King, and the second siege of Mihashira. 

In every mentioned occurrence, Reishi was very well-aware that he lost his cool.

(Admittedly, it was fairly easy controlling his Blue Aura. Reishi found it to be quite docile, as it moves accordingly to his will like an extension of his hand. There were some days when it stirred under his grip quietly in retaliation, though. During those times, it was easy to hear thoughts that were not his own; he just needed to close his eyes and concentrated a bit to hear his own voice cooing him to do things that will certainly give him benefits over everyone. It sometimes broke his concentration, but nothing so major that his power would run out of control.

As the cracks on his Damocles increased, though, those intruding thoughts increasingly seeped into his mind, distracting him again and again, until Reishi was too exhausted to care.)

“Welcome back to the land of living,” he heard Suoh’s gruff greeting, his silhouette moving away from the apartment’s window right towards his bed. Reishi blearily blinked and tilted his body so that he could properly sprawl on his own bed. As much as he wanted to converse with Mikoto then, his body still screamed for more rest… but from what? The last thing he remembered before collapsing on his bed was nothing physically exerting—if heading the defense of Mihashira Tower can be classified as such.

He was alarmed by a scowl from where the former Red King sat—at the base of his bed, that is—and subsequently threw him a _look_ . Be that his thoughts coherent and _tidy_ , his body still needed its rest, and Reishi will not let even him stand in his way to do so.

“I need more sleep, Suoh,” he grouched and closed his eyes. He felt Mikoto’s weight shifted away, the latter trying to fit next to him. Well, if he wanted to sleep as well, Reishi wouldn’t mind.

“We need to talk."

But Reishi really _minded_ if that was the case. 

“It will have to wait,” Reishi said briskly as he turned away from him, any semblance of order that had settled within his mind finally shattered as his Blue Aura stirred restlessly within him once more. Reishi closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, part of him partially grateful because there was no noise that piggybacked its rustling.

He was so focused on trying to control his own power that he gasped when Mikoto’s hands reached for his waist. Mikoto hugged him from behind, his head being buried on his nape while his warm breath tickling his sensitive skin. Reishi let out a soft relieved sigh; this was the ultimate reminder for him that _Mikoto was alive_.

(They had too many things to talk about, too many things that needed to be explained but always got delayed somehow—from how Mikoto was able to utilise his blue aura so bashfully in his meeting with the Silver King to how he appeared next to him _from nothing_ during the Siege of Mihashira. There was also the question why everyone did not seem to acknowledge Mikoto’s presence, saved for _Saruhiko_ , and what Reishi got was a finger on his lips a flash of frown that told him to _just do it, just ignore him to obscurity, just pretend that he was not there_. When Reishi tried to confront him with these questions, though, Mikoto would silence him with a kiss, himself lost in his fire because _damn him for taking advantage of his fear of losing him which took hold over his heart_.

Mikoto would tell him later that he will tell his answers later; it’s just that Reishi was more or less in no state of thinking—was too lost in his ecstasy because Mikoto always managed to unwind him _somehow_ —when he said his excuse.

The fact that he can delay answering at his leisure meant that Reishi had the right to delay the conversation as well. It was not without reason, really; there was a growing dread that settled inside his stomach from two hypotheses that he loathed to prove: Mikoto was never back with him—which had been irrefutably discarded—and he was going mad.)

“No, Reishi,” Mikoto _sighed,_  and Reishi found himself not wanting to engage in this conversation _anymore_ ; Why can’t this barbarian understand? “we will have this conversation _now_."

Reishi stilled in Mikoto’s embrace, his hands quietly reaching for Mikoto’s own. What noises he had been expecting since the moment his aura stirred eventually came crashing, drowning him in his own voices that screamed _he’s dead, you killed him, there was blood on your hand, he can’t be alive_.

“I can feel it, you know,” Mikoto’s voice tore through his thoughts—a beacon of stillness once more amidst chaos in his own mind, “the ripples, the times when you’re too distraught to keep your aura in check, the moments when you tried to regain your focus only to lose it.”

The former red king kissed his nape, and Reishi couldn’t help but shudder under his ministration. But just because the man tried to make him relax never meant that Reishi would simply _yield_. Reishi took a deep breath to calm his breathing; facing the person who had known the facts that he had been trying to hide was just overwhelming. “How do you know this? How much do you know?"

He must have asked the right questions, because Mikoto suddenly went still behind him. Before he cast his other questions though, Mikoto’s hands had already attempted to turn him around, they can face each other. Under the low-light—it was night, the moon illuminating some parts of the room—Reishi could make the glint of Mikoto’s amber eyes, his eyebrows joining together in concern, and that lips twisting to form a frown.

“I’m your clansman, now. Surely that answers your question?” his voice was light, almost akin to amusement, and Reishi wanted _to strangle him_ for taking his question lightly. 

“Don’t play with me, Suoh,” he growled, violet eyes trained on him fiercely as his mind whirred in full force. Seri noticed not a thing of his internal battle; Saruhiko was finally able to piece things together because he had witnessed the evidence firsthand. Suoh’s reasoning did not fall in line with what he had seen alone so far, which meant there was something else—something that the former Red King forgot to tell him.

Those amber eyes avoided his violet for a moment—and it was enough for him to verify that _there was something._ Reishi bit his lips, his hand reaching for Mikoto’s chin to pull the man’s attention to him once more. “How, Suoh?"

Sometimes Reishi forgot that if he looked closer unto someone’s eyes, he would find some sort of sign—lies, truths, bad intentions, lust, madness, pain, or hopelessness. In his darkened room, however, Reishi found _fragility_ under that intense stare. _What are you so afraid of?_

Mikoto let out a weary sigh, amber hiding behind those lids as he fought for words. Then, he started, his words sounding weak but still _crisp_ , “You killed me, Reishi."

Those words were laid-bare facts. Reishi had learned enough for the last three hundred days to deal with it. Yet _to have them thrown to his face by his victim_ , his breath hitched for a moment. As if sensing his wariness, Mikoto’s hands were already on his sides though, trying to make him focus. “You ended me, Reishi,” the more he said it, the crisper his voice became. “Dead people do not return to life."

Those words were like a bucket of ice water that automatically jerked him away from Mikoto’s touches. The stillness of his thoughts suddenly broke again, the whispers returning even louder than before, and he could feel his control breaking again. Some of his aura had already slipped away; before he can quell the spike, it lashed out to the other man. Mikoto had no time to protect himself and was fully blasted to the nearest wall, his frame falling to the floor with a loud thud.

The whispers were closing on him, drowning him in guilt, horror, shame, fear, and— 

—he cannot perceive how time moved for the both of them, because Mikoto was already back on his feet, already before him and pulled him into his embrace, hushing words which were meant to comfort him. For a man who said that he was dead, he thought that Mikoto was warm to his touch. His mind was quiet once again (and he really suspected Mikoto having something to do with this), and he basked in the peace and quiet which was granted to him once more.

He can feel Suoh’s hand reaching out to remove his glass, his lips pressed on the top of his head. Reishi didn’t care; all these emotional roller-coaster within the last few minutes made him sluggish. He did realise Mikoto moving him back to the bed, replacing his white shirt with a new one (he was too tired, and the whispers… even when they have been tuned to background noise, Reishi couldn’t help but wanting to curl to himself), and him pecking softly onto his lips. “Rest up some more."

Reishi did not counter, though he did say this before losing his consciousness: “You’re wrong, Suoh. You return to me."

_Therefore you’re not dead._

(Among the things that were whispering in his mind—with his _voice_ —this was one that did not seem so lashing: _Your hands are stained with his blood, but are they really? He is there, with you, alive and well and warm and_ **_breathing_ ** _. Surely this is a sign that you have never killed him in the first place? Embrace this fact and let that be your reality—it is easier this way, isn’t it?_

Then, the walls came down, the iron-grip control over his own power, the sea of Blue that engulfed him as he accepted that argument every night, before unconsciousness knocked on his door. That was how he lost pieces of himself, bit by bit, as he continued believing the lie that did not come from himself.

Reishi ended up falling, dragged down by his lies, into oblivion.)

* * *

“Reishi must stop falling."

He was on his way to his car when the Red King showed up near him. The words were spoken softly though without lack of concern and urgency. It drove right at home, and Reishi found himself hearing those buzzes again; and there was nothing the little Red King can do to dispel it.

His Blue Aura stirred; Reishi slowly took a deep breath and prayed that his control was not slipping. He had survived the coffee-table meeting without breaking any appliances and _no way in hell he was going to lose grip right then_. The Blue King let out a tired sigh and forced a smile, “I’m sorry, Anna, but I do not quite understand."

As if she was called, Anna slowly trotted closer, close enough for Reishi to observe her again. There was sadness in her eyes; doll-like she maybe, Anna’s ruby eyes held more strength than any of her HOMRA compatriots, he thought. To see them marred by sadness… Reishi wanted to lift it away.

She held out one of her marbles and handed it to him. Ruby eyes glinted with resolve as she whispered, “Reishi must not lose—to _that whisper_."

Her words stilled him, the meaning suddenly settled firmly in his mind. Anna had already moved to reach for his hand, to put that red marble within his grasp—a gesture that alarmed him. But Reishi let it slide; how can he not when she never stopped gazing at his amethyst because _she had more to say_.

“Mikoto wouldn’t want you to lose. _I_ don’t wish you to lose. Please, don’t give in.”

There was a lump in his throat, threatening to break his grip over his stirring blue aura. The warmth of her marble reminded him of Mikoto,  though, and somehow… focusing on that person before his death--before he became his clansman, before he told him that _he had been dead despite his return_ , before everything changed irreversibly--suddenly helped. He forced out a smile, his hand squeezing hers slightly, as he let out a hoarse answer: “I’ll try."


	7. Gebrochene Seele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Give it back,” he growled, wisps of blue still dancing in the air, like flame. His hand was still suspended by those chains, holding him back from creating damages because _this woman deserved a hit_ , fairer gender aside. “return it to the way it should be!"
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Gebrochene Seele:** Fractured Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been revising the story flow forward for a while. Therefore I'm sorry to make you all wait
> 
> Unbeta'ed as usual, but please enjoy... nonetheless.

There was so many things that he can tolerate; a _hurting_ Reishi was never one of them.

There had always been a streak of order in the way Reishi held himself together, a sense of calm confidence amidst the battle he had to face. In every ocassion, no matter how beaten he was then, that lingering calm remained—in his straight posture, in his shaking grip on _Tenro_ even—an absolute of his characteristic. But when he saw him from the top of his sword, his blue aura swirling dangerously around him and lashing against anything that stood in his way, Mikoto knew that everything was going _wrong_.

He was right; what he did not expect, however, was how his arrival by Reishi’s side promptly stabilized said man’s aura, granting him control over his unchecked power. There was nothing more gladdening than seeing some semblance of control underneath that pair of violet eyes.

(Some, because what was restored were just fractures of greater whole.)

Mikoto thought that this night would be the best time to disclose his current condition—to answer questions that had been haunting Reishi—given his mere presence managed to calm the Blue King down. Maybe the a shed of truth will serve as the glue to the broken fractures of control reflected in his gaze, and he would never trade a chance to repair him came undone.

But of course, the world loved to prove him wrong.

The message was one simple sentence, really: _Mikoto Suoh is dead,_ _but not_ _gone_. Reishi was only coherent enough to listen to the first part, before unconsciously denying his presence. Mikoto never saw Reishi’s aura coming at him, and suddenly he was already thrown to the wall, falling haphazardly to the floor, the image of Blue King’s composure shattering under the force of guilt and _pain._ He emitted such strong thoughts that Mikoto almost _faded out_ ; as much as he was real in the material world, if only to Reishi alone, he was still _a ghost_ , as confirmed by his Ferrywoman—a ghost that can fade away or go crazy in the face of overwhelming intentions. But he forced himself anyway, because it hurt him even worse to look at the dark-haired man like this, so unraveled and lost under his own denial.

(It was only for a few weeks, but Mikoto learned the qualities that made the Blue Aura the way it was: impartiality, impersonality, and fairness. But ever since Reishi’s meeting with the Silver King, those qualities seemed to fracture in hundredsdifferentways. Its impartiality had slowly grown bias, its whispers cooing Mikoto to think for himself more—to think selfishly that, maybe he ought to find a way to stay with the Blue King for moments longer than he was entitled to have even, hence breaking his resolution in the first place. Its impersonality is breaking; the more it whispered to him of things for himself, the more Mikoto be able to put a person behind that voice—that it has a will, a blurry face to place on, and a figurative name, genderless it may be.

The Reishi he knew before was changing into someone more reckless, more out-of-tune with the harmony of blue. A small part of him wondered whether that single decision—that moment when Mikoto chose to stay with Reishi despite Claudia's warning—did this. But then he remembered how broken Reishi was even before this whole thing, only to realize that he might be as miserable _without_ him. It disturbed former Red King whenever that thought graced his mind.)

Mikoto sighed, remembering the fragile frame in his embrace slackening under emotional strain which was even worse than the first time they met. There should be something he could do to fix this, he thought for a moment as he glanced at the window from where he sat.

There was a yellow fox— _Claudia’s,_ because there was no way such slim fox exist in material world—by the window, its brown eyes trained at him pensively while its tail swaying in attempt to take his attention.

It took no more than several seconds for Mikoto to quickly trotted forward and opened the window. The fox remained seated on the outer window sill, still observing him lazily. Amber eyes glared back; cute and docile as it may be, the Ferrywoman had stated beforehand that it was a demon. Mikoto was not in the mood to trifle with unknown factor, not when he already had to deal with Reishi’s situation.

As much as he expected for something extraordinary suddenly being done by this _demon_ , the little fox only managed a yawn before leaping into the air. It floated, not to Mikoto’s surprise, several inches away from him before it dashed upwards. Each step that it took burned with trails of reddish fire ( _is that red aura?_ )—trails that somehow reminded him of Claudia’s weaving silver chains. The fox demon looked back at him again, its bushy golden tail waving as if waiting… encouraging him to follow suit.

So he did; Mikoto was stil a ghost after all, despite his status as a clansmen ( _ghost_ , whatever).

The fox jumped gracefully on the air, as if it was following an invisible path. in each step, its paws burned the air with that red flame, reminiscent of a power that almost destroyed him and the whole Shizume city. There was a part of him that wondered that for this exact reason Claudia decided to take this demon with her—not that he had ever known a demon is capable of wielding auras in the first place.

(This red aura was not Anna’s; Mikoto was so sure of this conclusion.)

The fox suddenly descended onto a building—where Cladia was seen standing on top. He would have followed the lithe thing down, if it— _they_ —did not choose that building, _of all places—_

“Won’t you come down here so we can talk, Suoh-san?"

—Mikoto growled under his breath as he levelled himself to stand in front the woman whom invited him. Claudia really had a bad taste of choosing their meeting venue; if she chose the place where everything started—where _Totsuka Tatara was killed—_ for her amusement… well, he was not laughing.

( _She can never be cruel_ , he would like to think, _but then the Slate behind her is a master of irony._ )

The fox had already moved to its favourite spot—on her right shoulder—earning it a light chuckle. She nuzzled its head gently, like an affectionate master, ignoring the fact that Mikoto was burning with so many questions that the other could help him with. She seemed to sense his displeasure from being ignored, though, because Claudia finally glanced at him, silver eyes glinting with warmth. “You have questions."

“Well thank you, lady obvious,” he muttered irritably. Reishi’s broken expression haunted his mind again, making him still. Mikoto let out a sigh that he unconsciously held, his amber eyes stared straight at the woman while his right hand reaching for the purple primroses inside his inner jacket pocket--the one item that enabled Reishi to _see_.

“What exactly did you do?" He growled, his eyes narrowing accusingly at her, "I have never seen Reishi so... unstable. One time he is fine, and next he lost control of his power. You are the goddamn proxy, so surely you know something about this?"

It maybe a trick of light, but the woman seemed fragile amidst the glow of Shizume skylight. There was pity in her eyes, and Mikoto braced himself for the oncoming bad news (because what else was new?). "A major side effect to the deal he had made with me."

Her eyes wandered to her side—to the fox demon sitting on her shoulder—filled with insecurity. It nuzzled her cheek as a gesture of encouragement; some part of hesitation hiding behind that silver disappeared, leaving a resolute glance.

“It is part of the deal that the Blue King made with me,” she started, her hands crossed over her chest. Those silver eyes never strayed from his amber, "he wished to be with you... and you wished to be with him. So I gave both of you the middle ground."

He still waited for her to finish her words, and then that demon fox started pawing her cheeks in annoyance. And Claudia, to his surprise, actually made the attempt to stifle the fox's effort. The whole scenery was odd in itself; he had only seen them both once inside that ramen stall, and yet for Claudia to actually do something less than affectionately like this... something was off.

"I harness that primroses from the Blue King, using his dream," her hand gripped on the fox's tail harshly—harsh enough almost to make him leap at her because animal abuse can never be alright—as it whined. She glared at it almost ruthlessly afterwards, making the demon squirm and yield. "I can only offer something in return if the person pays the right price. So I took his dream, turned it into a medium. But his dreams, as bitter as they can be, are part of himself that define him—a part of his soul."

The item inside his pocket sudden felt heavier. Mikoto can feel an invisible lump in his throat, hindering him to question further—to ask more. To think that he held a literal piece of him...!

"The soul houses one's aura as well as maintains its balance," she closed her eyes, “when one loses a part of it, their other parts will try to reach for that missing piece. Then their sense of self will deteriorate over time, some even going so far as experiencing mania. They will collapse under the strain, until the rest of the pieces fell apart and fade away. This is what the Blue King is experiencing—"

She never got to finish her words, not when Mikoto closed in on her, hand already swung for a punch that could have connected with her jaw if not for myriads of silver-gold chains leaping out from the rift between, holding his wrist in place. Amber eyes met silver, and all Mikoto could feel was _rage_  when faced against her remorseful impassiveness. Blue aura whizzed around him threateningly, so much unlike how the Blue King wielded his own.

“Give it back,” he growled, wisps of blue still dancing in the air, _like flame_. His hand was still suspended by those chains, holding him back from creating damages because _this woman deserved a hit_ , fairer gender aside _,_  “return it to the way it should be!"

“I’m sorry, former Red King,” she spoke, the fox on her shoulder jumped out as if it had been stung and _hissed_ , loathing the sudden shift of presence between them. He should have known better though when  _she had left them_ he noticed how those words were devoid of emotion _._ “But you cannot sever a pledge made by another. Reishi Munakata will always seek you out for possessing that primroses. The nearer the pieces, the easier for him to recompose himself. So stay with him, and everything will be fine."

* * *

“Whatever you do, always stay close to me."

Reishi’s gaze shifted from the slate below to him, violet eyes gleaming with intrigue. Perhaps the King picked up on his mood, because what graced his lips was not that smile, but rather a concerned frown. “Is something the matter?"

Reishi might have only said those words, but Mikoto clearly sensed the meaning behind them: _I can handle myself, you don’t need to protect me, are you alright?, for our cause is pure_. The emotions behind them were Reishi’s, but it irked him to feel them _tainted by blue_  ( _blue that was pride-filled and self-serving, blue that reeked of opportunity and cunning, blue that had transformed from objectivity to subjectivity_ )—so very different compared to that calm confidence which he used to emit.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he was still on that building as the woman speak: _he will always seek you out for possessing that piece. So stay with him, and everything will be fine._

“Suoh?"

Somehow, Reishi had their hands intertwined the span of his reminiscence. The booms of red against green in the levels below should have been their utmost priority amidst the war they were waging against JUNGLE. But Mikoto only wanted to emphasise his message before he became to late in changing anything—

“Whatever that green brat tries,” he emphasised, “ _always stay close to me_."

—the door was blasted open; Nagare Hisui bursted inside in a flash of green lightning.

Then Reishi’s Blue Aura _sang_   _with purity_ —with _calculated precision_ and _impartial firmness,_ like _how it should be_ —with a slash of _Tenro_. Everything was crystal clear, with Reishi being the center of that _perfection_.

Mikoto sighed as his hand gripped on Reishi’s hand, feeling the primroses buzzing in reverence, _in acceptance._. This… to help Reishi stabilise himself… this, he can help that man with.

(He was just glad that there was something he could do to repent for the deed that he forced Reishi to do.)


	8. Kleines Mädchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her red aura shifted in excitement, as if it had finally found something worth destroying. Somehow, she could understand; the green aura sang of _revolution_ , and her red begged her to _crush this insurgence._ But she turned its request over, like any other times, because _she knew who she is, and her red was never meant to destroy._
> 
> So Anna held her hands high and willed her red to _protect_.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Kleines Mädchen:** Little Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which episode 8 ends differently, because we have Mikoto over here! Also in which Tenro doesn't break, hahahaha.
> 
> Personally, I find this chapter enjoyable to write, since it's Anna. I've been wanting to write from her POV.
> 
> Unbeta'ed, but I try my best to fix any spelling errors. Please kindly enjoy.

When Anna Kushina first wielded the red aura as the Red King for the first time, every part of her sense _burned_ _with_ _fury_.

It was different from when she was just a member, a young ward under Mikoto’s responsibility. Back then, that red was _warmth_ personified—a fierce presence at the base of her heart but still and glowing, _like candle light._ This red aura thrashed under her grip as it fought to overwhelm her—to destroy her inside out and leave her freshly _burnt_. Then she remembered Mikoto and _her vow to protect_ , so she tightened her hold over this surmounting power and ordered it to _kneel_. It took her a considerable mental effort, but it eventually yield to her command—her own _beautiful_ red.

The fury never went away, though.

Anna eventually learned that while violence in the principal of this red, the power came with inert rage that reared its ugly head over periods of time. It challenged her control, sneered at her resolve, and preyed on her emotions. Every time it did so, she would summon the last memory of her meeting with Mikoto—even if it was just a dream—and remind herself again that _this rage can be harnessed to protect the people she loved._ Afterwards, she realised that if Mikoto was never in her life in the first place, she would never be able to contend against this overwhelming will.

Suddenly, she understood how Mikoto died. Faced with this amount of rage without Tatara to support him… like a stool missing a foot, he was counting his days to live until the imbalance of his power ended him with a Damocles Down. The revelation made her grieve, but Anna would not let that feeling stay for long; the last thing she needed was that rage rearing its ugly head when her countenance was breaking.

She had better things to deal with.

* * *

Reishi, the portrayal of order amongst them, was breaking.

She did not need to look through her marble glass to know that there was something missing in him. It was not reflected on the way he moved or spoke, rather in his aural signature. She can sense his change, and there was nothing subtle about it; at first he was empty, then filled, _then empty again_ , as if what defined him appeared an reappeared in whims—or so she perceived. Anyone would have crumbled under that strain, but Anna would like to believe that Reishi's strong—stronger than Mikoto in handling this, even—enough to get through his ordeal.

Then the second Mihashira incident happened. Anna was proven wrong once more.

(There were whispers in her head—whispers of righteous fury that always cooed her to destroy everything without consideration. When she said no to them, her red aura would rattle under her control, fighting to break free. She wondered if the other Kings experienced the same thing.

Then she saw Yashiro Isana and heard the hum of Silver Sanctum that promised status quo, and later, the quiet calls of pride and self-interest of the Blue Sanctum from the surface of Reishi's aura. They were all having the same problem, except Reishi had more struggles than either of them, his blue aura rattling wilder than she had ever seen. Perhaps it was related to the emptiness that he bore, though said person did not seem to realize this.)

Strategically speaking, the Red King understood the benefit of standing together with both Blue and Silver clan to repel incoming harassment from Green clan. Her underlying reason to join the alliance was not only that, though. She was also there to observe the Blue King. Even though Munakata Reishi was the killer of her loved one, she still had concern over his well-being, especially when she noticed the cracks on his Damocles growing by day. With this alliance, she can keep an eye on him… and take proper decisions when necessary.

The room where she was situated shuddered. Izumo’s shoutings prompted her to drift out of her thoughts. Not long after, the steel rolling door that pided them and the enemy quickly deformed into mesh of useless alloy. From that destruction came Nagare Hisui, the Green King, all supercharged and _ready to kill_.

Her red aura shifted in excitement, as if it had finally found something worth destroying. Somehow, she could understand; the green aura sang of _revolution_ , and her red begged her to _crush this insurgence._ But she turned its request over, like any other times, because _she knew who she is, and her red was never meant to destroy._

So Anna held her hands high and willed her red to _protect_.

* * *

Of all unlikely things that could happen, none of them considered the possibility of _another King siding with Nagare_. They did not even sense the Grey King’s presence before all of this happenstance. But now that his aura enveloped the chamber of Dresden Slate, easily blurring their focus and attention, Anna thought that the Grey King simply did not want to be found.

Now that the whole room was fully engulfed with his sanctum, she knew that he wanted to quietly slip out of their detection. So she tried to stop him—or maybe to distract him from executing his intention—but in the end, Yashiro had to step in and defend her from his incoming bullets. She could have evaded those attacks if it were not for this dense fog.

(It was not fog, per se; it was grey sanctum solidified. Just like how Yashiro’s Silver hummed _inertia_ and Reishi’s Blue did _order_ , Tenkei’s sanctum buzzed _righteousness._ She would have been alright if that principle was not deeply tainted by _despair_. She merely needed to breathe it in, and that _pain possessed her,_ even driving her red’s whispers into oblivion.)

She would have fainted on her feet if the Silver King did not catch her shoulder when required. He asked her to rest; Anna defied his wish and chose to focus her attention on wisps of energy beyond. The little King can sense Reishi’s wavering blue trying to get its mark. The fog camouflaged the Grey King’s position so perfectly that Reishi had no time to discern where the man was really at. If anything, he was only able to block Iwa's incoming attacks instead of landing more of his attacks.

There was something else that unsettled her. Reishi’s blue seemed to jump around him wildly, even before Reishi willed it (she knew intentional attacks when she sensed one; Kings asserted his/her will to some degree, after all, and Anna had always been good in discerning solidified intentions), as if it had a mind of its own. It even went as far as protecting Reishi from several gunshots that were aimed at his blindspot. The dance continued, their stances being at impasse.

The Grey King felt he had played enough, though.

When Reishi forcefully tore down the grey fog around him with a powerful swipe from his _Tenro,_ he never expected to to see Iwa standing several feet across him, his revolver pointing at the Blue King’s heart. Before he could even blink, the trigger was already pulled—and Reishi _would_ die.

But then that shifty blue aura jumped to his front as his shield. It bursted in rays of electrical blue as the bullet connected. What caught her attention—and her breath—though was not the behaviour of that bluish frame, but rather the silhouette of a red-haired man amidst the chaos within. His amber eyes widened in agony, his body crumpled down from the force of that hit, and the blue flare that surrounded him dissipated in seconds as Mikoto Suoh's ghost fell down, his whole frame disintegrating before he could even touch the ground.

What she saw completely rendered herself shocked, to the point that she failed noticing Reishi's disbelief expression, failed to sense Reishi’s previously steady blue aura suddenly peaked out until it went vertical over. Only when Reishi let out a blood-curling scream that she snapped out of her trance.

Many things happened in that span of seconds.

Reishi was already hunched over on the floor, hands gripping his own head as if he was trying to keep it from literally falling apart. Any semblance of control over his blue aura disappeared, and then it _screamed_ and _lashed_ at them without differentiating friends or foes. She had to raised her aura to guard against incoming attacks even, the force of his power almost overwhelming her hastily-formed red barrier. Amidst the chaos, the Green Clan managed to hoist the Slate to their helicopter and left the scene. Reishi's Damocles hang eerily above them, the blue glow on its bead turning darker—a premonition before its fall.

"Reishi—" another beam shot out at her, barely hitting her left side. She ignored her own surprise and moved forward, "you have...  to stop," she insisted again, the voice of her words were consumed by the sound of explosions around them. Each lashing was a gurgled _scream of power,_ until she felt a tug at the edge of her hearing—the sound of a _tight line_ snapping, urging her to look upwards—

—the blue bead shining on the hilt of Reishi's sword dimmed to black. Violet eyes turned at her, and Anna saw not an ounce of recognition from his eyes.

His Damocles dangled precariously above them. She can feel his power crackling, _laughing at his incompetence_ , so Anna screamed, if only to drown those voices and snap this man awake—

"Reishi!"

—the Blue Damocles came crashing.

* * *

The blast never came, though, and she had Yashiro to thank for that.

She never really understood the extent of the Silver King's power, but she recognised his ability then when he tried to put out the crisis. Somehow, the white-haired teen managed to close in towards the dark-haired man, his silver sanctum engulfing Reishi's form completely. Moments before it fell on them, the Blue Damocles disintegrated into snowflakes, its owner having long turned limp on the ground. Next to him, Yashiro knelt down to check his condition, a grim frown marring his face.

"Sorry Anna, but can you help me bring Munakata-san down?"

 _Down the tower_ , he meant, and Anna was about to respond that he can do it by himself. Then she realized the dim gleam of his aura as well as some part of his sanctum latching on Reishi's form; whatever the Silver King did had rendered him fatigued. So Anna nodded and summoned her aura again, bringing both of them outside via the blown off roof, right to the SCEPTER 4 makeshift base just outside Mihashira Tower. Yashiro helped a bit, she thought, because it would have been much harder to bring people with her if he did not compensate with his silver sanctum.

That was how she ended up waiting inside the makeshift, along with Yashiro. No SCEPTER 4 members dared to enter the premise by personal request from both Kings. Given how they almost lost their lives from Reishi's loss of control, Yashiro thought that it was best to let them be private—just in case that the incident would happen again. Seri and Izumo had been entrusted to organise damage mitigation, keeping both members of HOMRA and SCEPTER 4 busy enough from getting too worried over their Kings.

The room was dead silent with only Reishi’s laboured breathings filling in the tense gaps that they have created for themselves. Disastrous results aside, the whole encounters only brewed more questions for her—questions that the other King _might_  have answers to. 

“Yashiro,” the Silver King’s slouched posture quickly straightened, the frown on his face transformed into a strained smile. He said nothing—which was off, considering how animated he can be—so Anna proceeded, “you stopped a Damocles Down.” _Reishi’s Damocles Down, of all things_. “How?"

The teen smiled sheepishly and stroke his head, “to be honest, I was not sure myself if it would work,” he confessed. His eyes focused on Reishi’s sleeping form, “what we all witnessed was a momentary loss of control over one’s aura. I’ve seen it happened on some of our test subjects when it was driven to the corner or under extreme pressure. In every time, the syndromes are the same, from uncontrollable power to distressed signals that caused its aura to collapse onto itself."

He dragged his attention back to the young girl, his eyes are filled with concern, “what I did was simply stabilising his collapsing aura. Once he is well enough to maintain his position over his aura, Munakata-san will be able to harness his blue sanctum again, though…” his hands gripping the mattress sheet tighter than they should be, “at this rate, the burden of killing a King would be too much for him to bear. If anything, what I did was just a quick fix."

She perked at the mention of it, her mind quickly remembered of Mikoto. “…I saw him there, with Reishi,” she rasped, not even realising that her emotions were already building within. Her red aura was silent for once, and she was grateful for it.

He looked at her, his expression puzzled, “who?"

“Mikoto,” she said firmly, daring him to say that she might have lost her mind—that it was impossible for a dead King to be seen again, not when they had scattered his remains. Yashiro’s face was a mask of perfect impassiveness. “I saw him protecting Reishi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any hurting feels caused by this chapter. ~~At least Munakata isn't dead.~~


	9. Die Atempause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No one saw the Grey King coming, nor did anyone predict them to escape via roof. You have done as much as you can, and I will never hold you against that. Don’t blame yourself too much."
> 
> Perhaps it was the fact that _Kuroh_ said it made his heart a little lighter.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Die Atempause** : The Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is composed at 3AM, so I apologize for _le wild typos_.
> 
> Also this piece hits 2500 words I don't even.
> 
> Anyway, please kindly enjoy.

Shiro may have prepared for the worst case scenario, but he certainly never forecast for things to turn into _this_. The dust had settled, with his plan failing to defend the Slate from being stolen by JUNGLE and their Blue King being unconscious for who knows how long. The red and blue clan maybe on the roll in minimizing damages, but as soon as their tasks are done, the doom and gloom of defeat will quickly vanquish any remains of their spirit. All of this was happening because his plan was not adequate, and everyone was paying the price.

Shiro closed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. He was still around the premise only because the Blue King had yet to shake off from his stasis. Anna had already taken the initiative to take turn in looking after the man first, insisting that among the three of them, Shiro needed the rest. He refused, at first, but as he saw that glint of resolution in her ruby eyes and how that red wisp behind her… really, what can he do except _yield_? That was how he ended up sitting on a chair just outside SCEPTER 4 makeshift tent housing the Kings.

When he opened his eyes, Kuroh was already standing before him. Shiro was so surprised at his sudden appearance that the Silver King would have fallen from his seat if his vassal had not grabbed him when necessary. The King sighed and fixed his position, his lips forming his signature smile. “Sorry Kuroh, I didn’t hear you coming…"

That steely gaze which Kuroh usually held softened for a moment and Shiro really understood why. The man was his clansman; to actually miss his presence when they were so close to one another was a sign of how out of a game Shiro was. “Not all of this is your fault, Shiro."

If it was not Kuroh, Shiro would have barked a cynical laugh. That understanding kind eyes, however, managed to stave that urge away again, then he found himself being urged to be more responsible and try to _change something instead of leaving things as is_.

“You know that is incorrect,” he breathed out, silver eyes glancing at the sleeping form of Reishi Munakata inside the makeshift tent. If he strained his vision, Shiro could make the edge of his sanctum trying to keep Reishi’s from collapsing on itself by filling the gaps within his sanctum. Their safety tethered on how long he can manage to keep the Blue King from collapsing entirely, at least until he regained his consciousness as well (and hopefully, his control).

Kuroh edged closer to his side, so that he could stand beside him and still got the view of both Red and Blue King from the entrance of the makeshift tent. Before Shiro realized, his hand was already on his shoulder, gripping softly to spare him some comfort. “No one saw the Grey King coming, nor did anyone predict them to escape via roof. You have done as much as you can, and I will never hold you against that. Don’t blame yourself too much."

Perhaps it was the fact that _Kuroh said it_ made his heart a little lighter. He tried telling himself that, rationalizing his way through his feelings, and ended up feeling more miserable. Maybe he just needed someone else to tell him that… or perhaps Kuroh simply had such effect on him, though the latter did not seem to realize it. Shiro nodded, his hands gripping on Kuroh’s reassuringly. Silver eyes seeking obsidian, the owner finally smiling softly, “thank you, Kuroh…"

The man nodded in understanding, retaining his position there. Moments after, he only realized that Shiro had yet to release his hands, as if the Silver King was too comfortable with their close proximity. Kuroh was growing red by the second, though, and quickly retracted his hand. The faint red adorning his cheek had not fully disappeared when the dark-haired man cleared his throat, the lower part of his face hiding behind his palm in embarrassment. "Forgive me for being out of line."

Shiro’s smile grew wider, a glint of amusement flashing behind those silver orbs, “and here I thought you would hold my hands a little longer."

The dark-haired vassal would have retorted at Shiro’s careless teasing if not for the sudden spike of blue sanctum just inside the tent. Shiro caught the man’s hand reaching for Kotowari, preventing him from withdrawing his blade and gestured him a silent message: _it is fine_. After all, anyone would have done the same as Kuroh did if they saw glowing blue _flame_ (or was it aura?) taking a humanoid form. It floated restlessly, before Anna, who wore a peaceful expression on her face despite a trail of tear from the edge of her closed eyes.

( _What did she see_ , he thought, _what was so touching that she cannot help but shed a tear_?)

Moments after, the blue aura dissipated, almost as if it returned to the sleeping form of one Reishi Munakata. Shiro found his silver sanctum being eased away, with that missing blue filling the gaps that he tried to cover. As if answering to the changes of his own self, the Blue King opened his eyes.

Shiro, never feeling more relieved than in that moment, invited himself and welcomed kindly, “welcome back, Munakata-san."

* * *

It was funny, he thought, to return to the same quarter which was ransacked in their last meeting. Shiro could not help but let his gaze linger on the things that were destroyed then: the window had been repaired to its former glory, whatever signs of destruction in the Blue King’s recreation space had been cleaned up and rebuilt, and Reishi’s self-control seemingly stabler compared to their previous audience, though the wisp of fleeting blue at the back of his chair disconcerted him.

(Rather than _sanity,_ Shiro preferred _self-control_. He remembered how Reishi collapsed under his own power, the structure of his sanctum being too devoid of rigid shell. He had a hypotheses that this was the result of killing a King. Not just any King, but something more than that. The latter was conjecture on his part, but having read the history between Reishi and Mikoto from what little intel he obtained from Lieutenant, Shiro quickly deduced that there _was_ history between those two.

Rolling with that theory, Shiro believed that the burden of killing a king stemmed from strained emotional aspect. This was what he believed as he arrived on that conclusion. Then that unfamiliar blue wisps appeared, throwing his whole theory out of the window. When he first witnessed the anomaly--how the presence of such abstract-but-real thing quickly fixed the problem at their hands--stayed with the man and stabilized the Blue King's sanctum so visibly, the scientist part of Shiro screamed for _an explanation._ That was one of the reasons that he ended up where he was.)

“I believe I have not extended my gratitude to you," the dark-haired man stared, hands intertwining together and violet eyes narrowing on him, "I have heard from Anna about my loss of control," there was almost a pained expression on his face, as if Reishi was trying to block what he remembered, "therefore, for preventing my Damocles Down, I thank you."

The blue wisp seemed to shift slightly as Reishi's declaration, and Shiro still felt how uneasy his Kuroh when faced by things beyond his understanding (or Shiro's, as a mater of fact). Shiro eyed it from his own seat across Reishi's table, but not so long that the other will notice his lack of attention, before nodding graciously. "I am just glad that there is something that I could do to minimize the damage. Though," Shiro bit his lips, silver eyes glinting with wariness, "I cannot say that I can do the same if this will happen again."

(Many things can happen in the future;  they were still fallible beings incapable of predicting the future, after all, and Shiro might not just be around to save Reishi's skin if he, supposedly, lost his control.

If Shiro's silent behavior was an indication of pushing the other to pick the offer--to have the Blue King abdicating his right over the slate to someone else--he did not show it.)

Reishi's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing even further before finally relaxing, a weary sigh escaping his lips. He fixed his glass for a moment, before continuing, "I have already devised a fail-safe plan in case my Weismann level went uncontrollable, and yet... there was never a time to execute the plan at all. I'm considering the offer which you have proposed on our previous meeting."

Shiro might have imagined this, but the singular blue aura next to him seemed to shimmer in _agitation._ Kuroh shifted again. This time, he could even imagine him grasping for the _tsuka_ of _Kotowari._  Shiro turned at him and gave him a reassuring smile; wild it may be, Shiro did not sense any malice from the seemingly free sanctum, even if that did not fall under the Blue King's control.

"Before we go there, there is one question that has been plaguing my mind, Munakata-san," he replied, earning him another pensive look. "Could you please explain to me why you need to activate your sanctum now?"

For a moment, Reishi seemed to gaze at him vacantly, as if weighing the backlash of the answer which he would concoct. A moment after, however, both of his hands, still intertwining, raised up to hide the lower portion of his face. "Because it makes me feel safe."

 _You are hiding_ _something_ , he wanted to note out loud, to remind the man before him that Shiro cannot help him if he was reluctant to divulge the truth. The white-haired teen chose the middle-ground, though, and responded accordingly, "why do you feel unsafe in the first place?"

Reishi Munakata looked back at him restlessly, and Shiro felt the void within this man had been filled _but not completely_. It was as if someone had returned his _something_ , and yet what was filling his inside did not fit the hole. Reishi's hands clenched tightly against each other, the blue wisp around him shimmered, "because _he_ is gone and I still miss his presence all the same."

He wanted to say that Mikoto Suoh burned like flame--like the sun. That gentle wisp of blue sanctum did not represent the quality of that former Red King, and yet... "Tell me, Munakata-san... do you really mean Suoh-san?"

One single nod, and everything fell in piece. Shiro bit his lip and cursed the death of the previous Red King. "Please, kindly tell me everything."

The Blue King looked torn, before finally relinquishing another tired sigh, "it all started with his death... and then, the dreams."

* * *

It took them three hours to talk about the things that needed to be known, yet Shiro still felt that _it was still not enough_.

There were written notes in his hands along with several official profiles for abdication that Reishi was willing to disclose him with. His steps were too wide and quick; while Kuroh had no problem in catching up with his pace, he knew that the man was concerned with the things they had heard from him. Only when Kuroh called for his name that he realized that he was already on the brink of _running_. So Shiro stopped moving, but his mind still reeled over plenty of information that the Blue King managed to fill him with--information that he needed in order to decide what sorts of action that he needed to take to achieve their desired targets: taking control of the slate once more and researching further on abdication process.

He had to research the former more thoroughly, but the latter... with how their discussion ended up and the way Reishi's stability seemed to waver under the pressure of losing himself (because deep under the belly of his sanctum lied _that sweet gentle voice belonging to his sister_ , urging him to stay his hand from the matters at hand--to let _status quo_ reign free. He faced and denied it daily; Reishi, however, yielded and lost a piece of himself to the lies he made by himself), Shiro cannot imagine what abdication would do to him.

(In a King's case, the Dresden Slate amplified the power of one's soul to generate sanctum to the point that it materialized visibly in the physical world i.e. the Damocles Sword. A two-way connection was made between the Dresden Slate and the receiver; abdication simply meant shifting that connection from a King to the next will-be King.

Shiro did not have to look too closely that what prevented the Blue King from falling apart was the Slate in the first place. The person named Reishi Munakata had been broken the moment he traded a part of his self for the sake of a dead man's path. While he may have gained it back, though Shiro was still unclear on that based on their discussion, it was apparent that his status as a King maintained the stability of his self. If he were to give that right to another person, what will happen to the former King? Will he go insane under the pressure of his fractured self?

This was the first time that he would directly witness the result of another's life by his decision. Frankly, Shiro loathed the feeling.)

They were already at the courtyard of SCEPTER 4 HQ, Kuroh being on his side again and offering another worried gaze. His vassal looked as if he wanted to reach out to comfort him, perhaps to hold his hand and convinced him that he was not alone in facing this JUNGLE farce. Kuroh did nothing as such, though, and settled with this: "we will be with you no matter what happens afterwards."

And that was the thing, see? Simple words like that, if said by _Kuroh_ of all people, would quickly dilute his tenseness even if it just a bit. If Neko supplied him with the need to protect his family, Kuroh lifted his burdens by that simple recognition--that even as he tried to protect those whom he cared about, Shiro can rely on his family for the hard decisions he was forced to take.

Shiro nodded in understanding, his hand reaching twine with Kuroh's, not to the latter's displeasure, as he tried to seek comfort and sighed, "I... thank you, Kuroh."

The white-haired teen caught the sight of the photo jutting out of the official profile folder in his hand due to him messily putting back the files together before he walked out of Reishi's office. Saruhiko Fushimi's dark eyes stared back at him, and Shiro mused whether the teen will loathe him for the things to come. After all, he was robbing him of his King and turning him into one instead by the order of that said King.

Life surely loved to portray him as the inconvenienced one.


	10. Flüchtigen Träume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mikoto, the one person whom he cherishes," he said, his lips twisting into a cruel smile that made his hair stand. Reishi's hand moved to cup his cheeks, those blue eyes ethereally (and Mikoto cannot turn away, physical holding aside; there was something in his eyes that drew him in, refusing to let go of his attention), "der Rote König. The one who holds his tethered life."
> 
> There were frosts on Reishi's fingertips, and Mikoto realised too late that his limbs had been iced. That twisted smile was now filled with malice. "Please disappear, for my sake."
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Flüchtigen Träume:** Fleeting Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece has crossed the record of 'over 2000 words'. I'm sorry for the long text and the late update.
> 
> Unbeta'ed still. Please enjoy, nonetheless.

There was a point of time when Mikoto Suoh forgot about himself.

The whole premise may sound strange, given that he remembered the days he had as the Red King. He remembered the friends of this red-haired monster, a boy who was his junior and another boy with the similar age as him. Together, they banded together if not because of the younger’s insistence. His little band was supposed to be a small roll, until his hand started burning everything—the house, the trees, the birds, the man in purple shades, the young man with kind smile and finger over his lips—

—he glimpsed at him, as if realizing his presence despite him being an image of a far-off past.

 _Wake up, King_.

It was a soft nudge to his consciousness, the voice sounding firm with familiarity and reassurance. As if the words were the key themselves, he woke up to the endless black that he loathed. He shouldn't be able to experience anymore than a spirit can, but his whole body felt like it had been rushed down by hordes of stomping animals. Refocusing his senses even took considerable effort on his part, the last of his memories being a jumbled mess that he could not decipher. Clarity was quickly settling into his mind, with the sudden arrival of a fox standing before him—a fox that he knew too well.

“…how are you here?” he asked uncertainly, not knowing the main motive of this fox demon. The fox only gazed back at him almost exasperatedly, as though he had stolen the creature’s prey—or something. Fortunately, the fox did nothing more than just stare at him before the base of his paws lit with red aura.It circled on its place, it's aura slowly condensate into something akin to a certain Ferrywoman's silver gate. When that red gate finally stabilized, the fox demon stepped aside and pointed his snout to him, as if gesturing the red-haired man to fall down.

Mikoto blinked, "you want me to go down there?"

The way that fox gazed at him did not affect him too much... at least until something behind that brown eyes flickered red while its size suddenly grew thrice its original size. the fox had grown another tail. Before he can even yelped in surprise, said creature had already leaped over him and then  _kicked_ him with his hind feet. In the end, what Mikoto can manage was a curse of his own, his body falling down into the wispy red gate.

* * *

Everything was crimson, up to a certain point where his surroundings turned _gray_. Part of him wondered if he was still inside the Limbo, albeit its other facet. However, he knew he was no longer there when he identified a shadow several meters away from him, free-falling headfirst within the fog like himself. It took the form of a man, drifting closer towards him until Mikoto can study its features: an oval face, blue hair being swept to its left, a peaceful face that he was so grateful to see because  _that man never wore such_ _unguarded_ _expression in the time where he was_ _still_ _invisible_ —

The form of Reishi Munakata suddenly stirred to life, his hands reaching to Mikoto's arms so harshly that the red-haired man flinched. Reishi's face did not change though, unfazed even by what he was doing.

The whole thing did not sit well with him, his hunch telling him that something was wrong. "Oi, Reishi," he drawled loudly, because the winds dancing around them was strong and Mikoto wanted to be heard more than ever. "Wake up."

The Blue King did not budge, but the rushing air around them became more chaotic instead, as if another force beyond the fog was trying to rip them apart. Mikoto cursed under his breath and tried to shake him harsher. The Reishi's grip surprisingly tightened even further, its owner finally yanking the man closer to him so that both of their faces aligned so close that Mikoto can make out his soft lashes... and the  _blue eyes that_ _were_ _revealed afterwards._

(Reishi had the clearest violet eyes amongst the people he had ever encountered. This phantom had eyes bluer than the sky—a blue that selfishly prioritized ego and pride. Upon closer inspection, though, Mikoto can make out the violet at the edges of his irises. Whatever that meant, he was not liking it.)

"Mikoto, the one person whom he cherishes," he said, his lips twisting into a cruel smile that made his hair stand. Reishi's hand moved to cup his cheeks, those blue eyes ethereally (and Mikoto cannot turn away, physical holding aside; there was something in his eyes that drew him in, refusing to let go of his attention), " _der Rote König_. The one who holds his tethered life."

There were frosts on Reishi's fingertips, and Mikoto realized too late that his limbs had been iced. Panic quickly filled Mikoto's system as he tried his best to jerk away from the phantom that wore Reishi's form. That twisted smile was now filled with malice. "Please disappear, for  _my_ sake."

The frost quickly spread through his body, making him scream in agony; it was not the kind of frost that inflicts frostbite, but rather cuts through his senses and terminates its function. He felt it seeping into every pore of his skin, expanding within his nerves _. It hurts stop stop STOP_ —

Someone suddenly grabbed him by the back of his collar, forcefully pulling him away from the phantom. Mikoto heard the Reishi-look-alike hissed in disgust, then felt a form of warmth seeping through his frostbitten flesh (soul?), healing the visible wounds. He quickly turned to his saviour, his eyes widening at the sight of soft brown eyes sympathetically gazing at him. The fox.

(He almost rasped _Tatara_ ; there was no other people he knew that had such innocent but insightful eyes.)

It pulled him, trying to change the position of his fall so that they could stand properly amidst the fog. From the edge of his blurring vision, he could make out that jeering smile plastered on Reishi's. Perhaps he would not pay a dime if they were still rivals. But after the things Mikoto had done for him and the other way round, seeing that expression felt like a hit in his gut.

"What do we have here," he jeered, "the witch's demon, here to assist her familiar." There was laughter echoing in the space, despite the wide expanse, as if the fog was there to amplify their words. "Tell me, are you going to defy me, after all these years? Have you all finally grown a spine to oppose me?"

And then the phantom waved and the fog dispersed, revealing the oppressing sea of blue around them,  _almost like his sea of red_. They kept falling towards it, but something in Mikoto's gut told him that they would never reach the bottom, no matter how close that blue expanse seemed.

The fox behind him reverted to its former little form and landed on his shoulder, its red aura glimmered in the in the background of blue. Before he knew what was happening, the fox was already reaching for his internal jacket pocket ( _what the hell are you doing now_ ) and had Reishi's primroses on his jaw, before Mikoto could protest. That was when he realized that there black splotches on the edges of those flowers. Red suddenly spewed from the its jaw, burning the remains of those black away.

What surprised him was the phantom's _shriek._

"You are not the mediator and yet you _dare_ to interfere?!" The look-alike screamed on top of his lung, his hand pointing at both of them accusingly. Mikoto was not worried at first, until the wisps born from that blue sea jumped at him. "ERASURE TO ALL OF YOU!"

He quickly tried to reach his aura only to find it refusing his call. The once calm and yielding blue rebelled under his grip, even going as far as scathing him with frosty backlash. Mikoto winced at the mental repercussions and cursed, "shit—"

The fox leaped to his front, hissing at the aggressor in rage and summoning its red again, until everything within Mikoto's line of vision turned red. The frost was quickly substituted with flame, and for once, the former Red King was glad that he got to feel it again before everything blurred together—unintelligible and overwhelming.

* * *

"Don't you think you've slept long enough, King?"

The softly spoken words of Tatara Totsuka jolted him to consciousness. The room—the same room that they used to meet Anna before her ascent as a King—came to focus immediately: the soft sheets under him, the bright sun shining outside, the lithe but firm body behind him leaning on his back—

"Don't. This is okay, King," the man said, his hand finding its way to twine with his. Mikoto halted his attempt to turn back, to study the young man that had followed him to hell and back (because the last time he had met with him was _before_ _everything went down the dumps_ ) as if that simple gesture was enough for him to rule him. He wanted to laugh at the fact that even in death... Tatara was always able to calm him—to rule his flame before he turns everything into cinders. "To be able to meet you again, even if only like this, it's alright."

(There was weariness in his words, an emotion unfitting to a joker such as he. It made Mikoto think of farewells and he was not alright with it.)

"For a fellow dead man, you sure do not like to hang around," he opened. Tatara let out a small laughter and Mikoto blinked, "What?"

"It's true," he sighed almost wistfully, as if he was considering something else before Mikoto supplied his point of view. Tatara's words turned low with resolution. "I never got to hang with you around much even when I wanted to. Instead, Claudia-san dragged you around, here and there. But now... now that does not matter."

Mikoto can feel his back straightened; turning around to face him suddenly felt even more tempting. Then Tatara's grip tightened on his hand—an emphasis for him to stay, _to let it go_.

"Hear me, King. The deal which was made between Munakata-san and Claudia-san requires him to die and you to accept his death," he said unflinchingly, almost _like a certain woman he knew during her deus-ex-machina fit_ , and it made his stomach churned not only from the things that he said but also the tone that he used. Tatara did not bother to stop his words, though. "He offered her his life so that you can be free of this bond—of the condition that was imposed to you upon your acceptance to his invitation. His primrose is carved from his dream—the finer part of soul that is crucial in reigning a person's balance. Lack of it will result in self-deterioration. Lack of it _before_ the presence of Slate's Will... the result is just as you have seen."

The shadow of Reishi Munakata and his jeering smile haunted him still, forcing a whimper out of him because _god, he is the once causing_ that. Mikoto chose to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh; let that be another problem that he needed to fix after their discussion is over. "Claudia told me that I cannot give the primrose back because the deal was never between me and him."

"And she told you the truth, King," he replied, his voice twinkling like his long-forgotten _flame_. "You cannot give him his piece back, directly. Only Claudia-san can do that. So the million dollar question remains: do you trust her enough to let her do it?"

"What kind of question is that?" Mikoto scoffed, the memory of his days as a phantom stalking the lives of people whom he left behind resurfacing. In every part of remembrance, the Ferrywoman was there to guide him and lead him to do better decision. If anything, she had more than just credibility to help him. He reached for his jacket pocket that housed Reishi's primrose, her words about wanting to bridge the gap between Reishi's wish and his (to make them happy? to settle everything to the way it should have been?) reverberating in his head. He smiled.

"Despite everything that has happened and the fact that she is the proxy, I trust her," he said, his eyes noticing the absence of black lines across the petals. "I just think that she needs to stop trying to fix everyone's life as if it will fix hers."

Then Tatara laughed, breaking his mood because _what is so funny about that?_ The laughter died almost immediately and then followed by rueful response, "that's harsh, especially from you, King. After all, aren't you doing the same thing?"

He wanted to retort back at him, saying that he was different from the woman who shoved such options at Reishi's face without utmost consideration. So Mikoto turned, amber eyes searching the form that had been leaning against him only to find the last of his smile fading in gleams of red fireflies. Gone was the remaining of his ire as it swiftly changed into genuine shock. He reached out to grasp for this man, a little part of him wishing to grab him before he disappeared—

—Tatara reached out, a warm smile painted on his face, a kind grip on his knuckle. “Don’t worry, _Mikoto_ ,” he said, the man’s words making his hear ache. Brown eyes hid behind long eyelashes as his frame completely disintegrated, leaving the fox of that woman standing on his place in substitute. At the edge of his hearing, he could hear it, the last of Tatara’s words—

_Everything will turn out fine._

—and it drove him to scream at fate.

* * *

He never thought that there will come a time when Claudia would look at him with mournful eyes, even as he returned it with all contempt he could muster. Perhaps she saw the grief beneath his indifferent gaze, or maybe because she already knew when she laid her eyes on the fox sitting comfortably on his shoulder, already robbed of its red.

(He can tell in a single glance that there was no red left under the gaze of that fox—no presence that beckoned him to calm down during his hours of need. _Tatara's red_ had left it, and Mikoto somehow knew in his gut that it may be _forever._ )

“You wish to reject the gift that he has given to you, Suoh?” she inquired quietly, her eyes searching for doubt. She would find none, because he had decided to do what was supposed to be _done in the first place_. So Mikoto closed his eyes and extended his hand. Reishi’s primroses lied elegantly on his hand, with no black marring its beauty despite some wilting petals.

“Yes."

She studied his feature for one moment before drawing her hand in a circular gesture and pointed it at Reishi's splinter of soul, the tip of her index finger glowing with silver aura. The blue primroses rose up in staccato, as if invisible threads had rendered it hovering over his hand. There was the sound of blade cutting the air, before the petals scattered and reformed into two glass marbles: orange and blue. The blue one easily floated to her side, while the orange one surprisingly floated towards the former Red King, thus he instinctively reached to grab on it and gave her a puzzled look.

“It is a gift," she said, as if her words explained the mystery behind the warmth of that marble glass. Mikoto threw her one of his skeptic look, which the woman conveniently ignored as she proceeded to summon one of her signature gates instead. "One that you cannot refuse, unfortunately. There is no return address for that gift. And beside, I think you will need it... when the end draws near."

He wanted to ask her then of what she meant by that, but the shadow of a young girl standing next to the sleeping form of man just outside the gate. For a moment, his whole body froze, his mind catching up to the fact that _this was it; this was the moment in which he could fix the damages that were brought by both of them. This was the time to make things right_.

(There were things that he would lose by doing the right thing: the privilege to feel him, to communicate with him, to caress his face during his unguarded moments… all for Reishi’s sake. For him, it was better to watch the man he loved lives on without being able to see him again instead of sacrificing his sanity for the sake of those privileges.)

“Come,” she spoke, her presence anchoring his mind to the matter at hand. For once, he was really glad that she was not the Slate; the resolution behind those silvery eyes lifted his spirit, if just a little bit. “Let us return what belongs to him."

The blue marble in her palm shone in silence.


	11. Wahres Selbst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curve of his lips twisted and formed a soft smile, “he’s not dead."
> 
> “But his blood stained my hand."
> 
> A cold hand reached to twine with his right. “It was never his."
> 
> “I felt his body grow cold in my arms."
> 
> Warm breath tickled his face; Reishi noticed the hollowness under that pretentious-caring eyes. “But he is here, with you, _alive and warm and breathing._ "
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Wahres Selbst:** True Self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Persona 4.
> 
> Takes me awhile to type this, but I'm glad it is finally finished. Hooraaay.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. ~~I'll probably do vacation away from writing for a while, still feels sluggish in writing.~~

Everything within his line of vision was _grey_.

The endless sea of grey fog that lied before his vision felt stifling to his mind, not because its presence but rather the memory of failure that it brought. The shade reminded him of the sky when _Tenro_ finally learnt the weight of human blood, the sin of slaying his best friend (enemy, lover; he can never be sure with Mikoto Suoh) lying heavily on his shoulders. It also reminded him of the Grey King, Seigo Ootori—or rather, Tenkei Iwafune now—from the hollow smile that he threw at his enemies, to his cold distaste at how Reishi ran the show. Their last encounter was nothing short of _utter humiliation_ ; Reishi remembered the force behind the bullets that were shot at him, forcing him to defend rather than press through, until the last shot connected with _Mikoto’s ghastly blue form_ —

—Reishi closed his eyes as he let his mind be beaten again by the memories of his failure. When the memories died, he opened his eyes again, part of him wishing that the lonely grey is gone. But his violet eyes caught the sight of his reflection staring at him—the image of a man who copied his features to utmost detail. It was… unsettling to see those violet eyes glinting with longing and _understanding_ (he never usually looked like that; Reishi checked his reflection everyday before he left for office and he made sure that he never openly showed his emotion through the expression of his eyes alone).

The curve of his lips twisted and formed a soft smile, “he’s not dead."

 _Suoh,_ he mused and nodded in agreement. But then the memory of having his hand drenched by said man’s blood, the stickiness of it clung to his fingers in sorrow, weakened the impact of his reflection’s words. Reishi’s mouth quivered as he remembered _that crimson red_. “But his blood stained my hand."

A cold hand reached to twine with his right. “It was never his."

“I felt his body grow cold in my arms."

Warm breath tickled his face; Reishi noticed the hollowness under that pretentious-caring eyes. “But he is here, with you, _alive and warm and breathing_. _"_

(The words... They are always the same from the recess of his broken dreams.)

There was something hypnotic in the way his shadow uttered those words. Each syllable roused the memories that he preferred to remain buried, all of them related to Mikoto Suoh—or rather, _Mikoto Suoh’s death_. Yet in every accentuation that he made, the memory _shattered_ , leaving in its wake trails of identity that belonged to the former Red King belonging to his clan—the man who once a King, now _a Clansman_.

They shattered, like the small circular blue lights rising away from his frame.

His shadow pulled him close, so that he can hug his numbed frame. The words that were spoken right by his ears stilled him, “it’s alright to fall down in his name, _Munakata_."

The world around him somehow tilted; suddenly he was falling through the clouds, his impostor's hands still locking with his own frame.

Somehow, he understood what his copy said. It was easy for him, who only knew how to build and and create and plan, to fall down—to let go of his obligations to the world, to abandon the power that will eventually lead him to destruction, to be safe under the protection of others. Then Reishi remembered that pair of golden eyes, that cocky smirk, that mixed fragrant of cigars and wine, drawing him back to his only strong resolve: 'to save Mikoto'.

Suddenly, falling down did not seem as liberating.

"You have been broken so much and yet, _you_ still remain," the shadow mused, "strong is the essence that defines a person, yet when the bonds _are torn_ , all that remains is a mere shell..."

It pulled away and sighed. Reishi found his reflection’s hand grasping for his face, the coldness of his fingertips and that asinine smile felt so off place on the face that belonged to him. He wanted to look away, to jolt himself midair so that he could get his space, but the grip on his chin was firm. He wanted to cry out then, and yet his self cannot function, as though he was missing something crucial—something that served as the main wheel that triggered every part of his body.

They were so close that Reishi could see the lashes— _his_ lashes—and feel his breath tickling his face. “Should I break you further until there is nothing left?"

That face of his was closing in, and Reishi couldn’t help but dejectedly close his eyes and let his numbness drown him; soon enough, this whole farce will end with his shattered self.

(There must exist an end of the fall—a solid structure just below him that will smash him to pieces. When the dream ended—when Reishi decided to _give in to that peaceful lie_ —he will come back to the land of living reformed, his broken pieces all jutted out and _misplaced_ every time his sleep ended.)

“ _Reishi!_ "

He felt a pair of strong arms pulling him away from his shadow, making him yelp in surprise. The Blue King did not waste any more of his second and turned to his side, violet eyes widening as he registered that glint of amber and _that cocky smile_.

“…Suoh?” he gaped, but Mikoto only gestured his hand to his lip—a plea for him to remain silent. A plea, which, Reishi would love to throw back at Mikoto’s face because ' _isn’t this like that time when you decided not to disclose me something important on the matter of your death, now look what is happening right now and tell me in the eye that this is not one of the unintended consequences originating from my lack of understanding?_ ’ judging glare was shot back at the red-haired man. And like usual, Mikoto simply ignored it, his right hand encircling Reishi’s waist so possessively.

“We have to be quick, Suoh-san,” another voice intervened, one that he knew well and never imagined to meet again. Reishi turned to his right and saw wisps of blue and gold auras intertwining together, silver hair dancing wildly as the witch descended by his side. Their eyes locked for a moment, the woman flashed him a comforting smile that did not with well with his image of her. Their brief interlude was abruptly interrupted by the screech of his doppelgänger, who was trying to reach for them only to wrestle with the woman's silver bubble.

"No!" It screeched, hands hitting the bubble while menacing blue aura expanded in forms of azure slashes across the woman's power. The bubble structure wavered, but then re-stabilised soon after the hits ended. Reishi’s shadow looked so wrathful that, for a moment, he wondered if he did have such a capacity to be so. "This is not fair! He has given his due and now you decide he's worth to be saved?! You can't play favourite!"

"I'm not playing favourite," the woman replied, her voice seemingly bemused albeit even, "but a wish worth paying is a wish worth granted. Mikoto has decided to return what is rightfully not his."

And Reishi wanted to ask the gift in question—wanted to understand what the hell was going on—only to be reminded that _he did_ _arrange_ _something_ _for his lost love_. So the Blue King turned at them, bearing a look full of question... and denial, for rejecting his gift meant that the miracle would stop. "...you can't do that, Suoh."

For one moment, Reishi thought that the other man would snort and get back at him with another one of his wilful remark, a quick peck on his lips to make him flustered, or maybe a lazy biting comeback that was _so like him_. But the former King remained silent, his lips forming a soft smile. There was understanding reflected behind those amber eyes—an understanding that made his stomach churn, _because Mikoto Suoh is one stubborn bastard, thus he will do_ this.

The voice of his shadows buzzed hate and twisted glee, and yet Reishi’s focus somehow narrowed to the hand that had reached for his chin. Mikoto’s hand was warm to his cold skin, his amber eyes gleaming with defiance, forlorn… and _acceptance._

“Who are you to tell me what to do, _Reishi_?"

There was a blue marble on his right, one that the red-haired man had kept inside his jacket pocket and forcefully pushed _Reishi’s lips_. Before the Blue King can protest, Mikoto’s face was already on him, his lips brushing the other side of the blue marble. The whole situation threw him off so badly that Reishi could not help but gasp, only to help Mikoto force the marble into his mouth as their lips were sealed in a kiss. 

He thought he was about to suffocate from swallowing the little item, until he realised that it dispersed within his orifice like cotton candy, filling him with warmth ( _coldness_ ) and assurance ( _insecurity_ ). Mikoto’s lips still lingered on his—of cigar, wine, and _blood_ —driving memories of his reality that he had unknowingly buried under layers of lies and denials to resurface. 

( _Let me have this moment_ , he quietly wished, _before everything ends._ )

Mikoto pulled back, a soft grin plastered on his face. "I’m dead, but that does not mean that I will not around."

The warmth quickly spread from his face to the tips of his limbs in waves of blue and _order_.

The change made him stagger at his place, his hands trembling at speed of how his being was _restored_. That invisible weight that had dragged him down since the moment of Suoh’s return finally disappeared, along with the clouds that obscured their vision. Reishi can see the sea of azure expanding beneath them—the power that the Slate granted him in order to preserve and protect—

—he turned at his shadow. There was no smug smile plastered on his lips, only cold spite and hatred. Reishi scrutinised it for a moment longer, before he let the warmth beneath him expanded, until it burst out of the woman’s silver cocoon in a form of blue aura ( _his loyal one that was always at ready_ ) and trapped his lookalike in his own blue orb. Yet even as its freedom had been stripped away, it still regarded him with a haughty stare and grudging hatred, unlike several minutes earlier when it still held control of the situation.

Reishi looked at those violet eyes again and let out a tired sigh. He knew what this situation meant—why his own blue aura rattled so much under his reign as he entertained himself with denial. “You are me, that weak me who wishes for everything to return. You are my insecurity, my childishness, my arrogance, my fear—the loophole to my existence with which the Slate’s ill will wormed its way to me."

The mask of that hatred cracked; in its stead lied fear. Reishi pointed his index finger at the creature, his violet eyes bearing a new resolution, “but I will no longer fall from your deception. Begone, foul will, and never return."

The blue orb shrank quickly, his impostor deforming before disappearing with loud pop into non-existence. The static that plagued his mind vanished from the edge of hearing, which he was truly glad about, but the whole notion that he had banished part of himself somewhere made his whole being _ache_  and turned his mind numb—

—Mikoto’s hands wrap themselves around his waist from his back. Reishi could feel his his breathings on his left ear. “…took you awhile to accept reality, eh?"

Reishi closed his eyes to focus his mind on the red-haired man, because his mind felt so _sluggish,_ as if it was drifting to unconsciousness even when he certainly did not want to. Mikoto’s hands were warm, though, so he focused on that and his dragged voice. “It wouldn’t end like this if you explained to me about your situation before everything went downhill."

Mikoto snorted and Reishi could imagine that impetuous smile gracing his face. “I did try and you accidentally pushed me away, _harshly_."

The night of the second Mihashira siege hummed weakly in his memories. He _did_ push him away with his power, causing the wall of his flat to crack. Reishi winced at the reminder, the guilt coming back to weigh on his conscience. “…I apologise for that."

Mikoto’s hum was rich with amusement. He can still feel themselves falling into that sea of blue which grew even closer as time passed by, and yet… the man behind them stayed as if nothing had changed. Then Mikoto’s hug tightened, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, causing Reishi to strain every part of his senses to _receive_ , as he spoke:

“I’ll always be with you. Don’t forget that."

Then they crashed unto the seas of azure below. Its searing coldness below deafened his mind until _he simply forgot his reason_. Everything else simply ceased to be—

—and _Reishi Munakata_ woke up to see a pair of worried crimson eyes hovering over him. The first thing that he did though was to close his eyes and seek for the presence that had been around for _days_. So he reached out for Mikoto’s thread (because every clansman drew power from their King, who took power from the Slate) and found it gone—as if _someone had wiped off his mark_ —

—the edge of his sense itched at the presence of another King (silver, _her color),_ and Munakata opened his eyes to focus his attention on him, even when part of his brain was going frantic from lack of Mikoto’s presence.

“Welcome back, Munakata-san."

He cannot find in himself to reply (not when Mikoto was no longer with him).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally get to use that the summary line in this chapter. I feel so accomplished.


	12. Fragmentierten Passagen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was not ready, however, to hear the sound of Tatara's fleeting words, echoing through the thin bond that they have made through solidarity, as his will disappeared into oblivion—
> 
> _Thank you... for giving me this chance to save him._
> 
> —she fell on her knees right then, her heart overflowing with loss.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Fragmentierten Passagen:** Fragmented Passages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, surprise update? My apologies for the long wait? I was trapped in the agony that is Final Fantasy Type-0.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

She found the fox not long after bequeathing Tatara's gift to Mikoto.

It was sitting alone at the edge of the dark expanse between the living and the dead world, its attention locked at the invisible barrier that kept the two planes apart. Claudia knew that the fox spirit yearned to go away—to cross over—because the betwixt of death and life yielded suffering for any being. She knew this, because she had existed in this realm for about fifty years—knew how maddening lack of social bond was—and still felt the the emptiness of this black expanse warping parts of her mind that kept her sane. There was also the matter Tatara's decision to go away which shook her mind; she would be lying if she admitted that his sudden lack of presence did not affect her at all.

(She held with her the soul of Tatara Totsuka—pure, clean, and _untarnished_ —just knew that he was alright with how things were turning out. But a subjective part of her denied this, thinking that he deserved to see this through. At the very least, if his wish cannot be granted, then he should be able to see this problem to a close.)

It took no more than a moment for the fox to acknowledge her presence. In the space that ruled nothing, Claudia's presence was like a beacon of light. Yet it only turned at her when she finally stood by its side, its bushy tail waving in anticipation. The Ferrywoman smiled and scooted down, her face laced with apology. "Do you want to go there?"

It nodded, pointing its snout to the direction of the veil—where the living stayed, where the dead waited, one cannot be sure of the things behind it. Claudia smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, but I cannot carry you there... not like this."

The fox seemed down, its pointy ears as well as bushy tail promptly dropping at the news. But something seemed to interest the fox, because it quickly scooted closer to her, its brow not snout sniffing at Claudia's yukata sleeve. That was when her sympathy transformed into _wariness_ , because _that's_ _where_ _she hid what was left_ _of_ _that_ man.

(Only fox demon with great experience had the capacity to notice faint spirits like her (or _him_ ). Great experience usually came with cunning, and, along with it,  _evil_. Claudia had to be sure of the fox's intention first, given that she brought with her the remains of Tatara's will—of his power that she was able to retain and _keep safe_  against the wish of her employer.)

then she was struck with an idea that she might regret in the future. Still, she proceeded with it.

"You are correct, little fox," she said again and produced from beneath her sleeve the item that steal the fox' attention. The orange marble hosting Tatara's power gleamed peacefully, it's light reflected on the fox' amber eyes. "One can travel between this realm, the living, and the dead by carrying _their_ will. But if you take this, you'll be gone. No being can withstand the strain of having more than one will within oneself, after all."

The fox' gaze lingered still on the orange marble, a thoughtful look crossing its brown eyes. Claudia knew; bearing the power of the Slate enabled one to communicate with spirits after all. "Despite that consequence, do you still accept?"

The fox demon perked up and nodded quickly, its sheer eagerness reflected by launching at her hand to steal the marble away—an action that did not even evoke any reaction from Claudia. The amber glass shattered into pieces in its jaw, its shards transforming into wisps of fire that promptly enveloped the fox' form. The fire eventually died while those amber eyes turned soft-brown—a hue reminiscent of her Ferryman _companion_.

(Maybe the fox sensed not only of his presence... but also the man's determination and will to save his King. Maybe that was the reason which drove him to lend a hand and help.

Maybe the Slate was responsible to lead this stray fox demon here, into betwixt of life and death, so they can grant him the punishment that he deserved [not].)

Claudia's silver eyes seemed to brighten with bittersweet joy when she reached for the creature's form, her hand gently stroking its slender build and patted the fox's head with care.

"...Welcome back, Tatara," she said, but the fox shook its head, as if it rejected  the idea of having that old name to be branded on its new form. The Ferrywoman only smiled wanly in defeat, because _the fox was right_. It may possess the soul of that man, but what was once Tatara was given up in order to bring miracle between two people—an act of defiance towards the Slate's wishes.

"...I'll call you Tara then from now on, then. Is that alright?"

The fox squeaked. The Ferrywoman smiled, holding on the fox’ form gently, and leaped out of the world. The void went still once more.

* * *

Sometimes, she hated her employer so _very_ much, especially when they suddenly tried (and succeeded) in hijacking her, their only vessel. There were things that she needed to do to protect her psyche from the latter's intrusion (and the Slate _knew_ this) to avoid any side effects. In cases where the damn Slate was too preoccupied to inform her beforehand, she would black out long after they moved out of her presence, leaving her psyche hurt and broken.

(The Slate eventually pieced those broken bits together again, the gentle hum of their will spoke of apologies. She was the only outlet that heeded their will, after all, unlike the Kings who were chosen to follow their own purpose. They saw her as their precious asset.)

She did not wake up to that gentleness, though. Instead, her silver eyes were greeted with the sight of Tara trying to heal her using its red aura. The gentle and caring warmth slowly mended the silver and golden strains of her thoughts, reminding her of things that happened before she blacked out. Claudia blinked a few times as she recalled the what happened—

—ah, she was explaining Mikoto about the consequences of Reishi's action before the Slate showed up and ruined almost everything.

Tara nudged her hand. She responded by softly stroking its head, her thoughts slowly remembering how abrupt their intervention was, as if her presence was just another hindrance—as if she was just a tool, ready to be discarded. The Slate was never that forceful; it can be cruel and still deliver promises, yes, but whatever decision that was made was always _with full consent_.

From that train of thoughts alone, she could only draw that  _things were changing_. Whether it was due to change of the Slate's guardianship (for as good as his control over his power, Reishi's lack of experience compared to her Lieutenant's made his transition less smooth than Claudia preferred) or something else, she was not sure.

Tara scooted closer to her limp floor and licked her cheek in worry; Claudia had done nothing more than just stroking his fur, after all. She did not make any attempt to move, clearly lost in her own thoughts and conclusion. The woman let out a defeated sigh and patted its snout again. "...everything's changing, Tara, and I'm not sure if it is for the best."

The fox hummed in agreement, leaving Claudia to wonder if the demon knew something that she did not. She let it slide.

* * *

She had always been a neutral observer in the battle between Kings, naturally due to her position as the Slate's _lapdog_. She had to be impartial towards any given King, lest she face the Slate's judgment (she never tested nor was ever eager to do so). Therefore, Claudia will always stay her hand, even when she knew that Mikoto's spirit disappeared to the edge of the Void after defending the Blue King from a mortal attack, and also the fact that  _Reishi almost caused the second biggest Damocles Fall in the history of Japan_.

Tara was different, though.

The Slate's influence only applied to humans and their souls; demons were simply out of its scope—an uncharted territory for the will that governed ( _intervened_ ) with natural passage of fate. Tara was a demon that was gifted with a Ferryman's will—and his _former power_.

Tara's existence was the paradox within the Slate's system.

It was for this sole reason that she let it go to the ends of void, trying to save the remains of former Red King Mikoto Suoh before he disappeared forever. She wished not for his destruction, after all, for his presence had grown on her during her assignment as his Ferrywoman. She was not ready, however, to hear the sound of Tatara's fleeting words, echoing through the thin bond that they have made through solidarity, as his will disappeared into oblivion—

_Thank you... for giving me this chance to save him._

—she fell on her knees right then, her heart overflowing with loss. The Slate remained still at the back of her mind, and Claudia wondered if that _bastard_  did not intervene to remove the anomaly from their calculation.

Thinking of it made her spirit seethe with anger.

That was the first time that he opened the portal to that black expanse without the Slate's expressed permission. Claudia did not care though, for she had a former Red King and a fox demon to pick up. If the Slate's lack of hum a sign that they were offended, Claudia did not _care_.

* * *

The Slate's steward had changed once more, transforming the dynamic of power-struggle among Kings along with it.

Claudia had always expected that any offense that she take would lead to eventual karmic retribution. She had been its servant for almost a decade, and it was long enough for her to realize that the Slate _is_ fair—that just like how her good performance be rewarded with praise, her insubordination would result in punishment (though she had never done anything so severe to invite the Slate's wrath—not yet, at least). Now, she found that the Slate may not be so, considering that she was sneaking around the premise belonging to its newest steward. It was, perhaps, a breach of privacy from her part, and yet the Slate's hum remained silent like the _dead_ —

"It has been a while, hasn't it?"

—and she stopped fidgeting altogether, her form barely hovering over the ground just outside the small room which the new steward and his clansmen used as their base. She turned at the source of that voice just outside the door, the boy-turned-teenager sounded too mirthful for her liking, and held her gaze level at the only King who was able to see her without direct intervention of the Slate or _dying_.

"For you, maybe. Time had no grip on corporeal spirit like me," she replied calmly, though the latter may sense the budding insecurity behind her silver eyes, "you, on the other hand, have grown much, Nagare-kun."

The Green King—the only King that threaded the thin line between life and death everyday, thus enabling him to see things that normal people not—cracked a smile that promise mischief... and freedom. "And you have never changed one bit, Claudia-neesan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you expected Nagare to show up in this chapter... well, maybe you _are_ a psychic.


End file.
